promises to keep
by I love music
Summary: COMPLETE STORY Kane and Kirsty. A past will come back to haunt you...
1. Chapter 1

_But I have promises to keep  
and miles to go before I sleep"_

**Robert Frost  
_(The American poet)_**

**promises to keep**

**_chapter 1_**

****

**The Beginning...**

"Someone's comin', someone's comin'!" the little boy hissed in terror.

"It's the ------- wind, ya drongo," Scott Phillips said impatiently. Jeez, would his kid bro ever stop being a sook?

Kane looked up at the tall dark trees with their leaves shining silver in the moonlight and at the moon watching them intently through the branches. There was a lull in the breeze and for a few moments the only sounds were the sea rushing to the shore and the shrill call of crickets and, loudest of all, his own shuddering breaths. He didn't know how they'd made it to the churchyard without being stopped. Scott seemed to know instinctively how to vanish into shadows and Kane had followed closely as Scotty instructed.

"We won't get caught 'cos I'm too smart," Scotty said.

But they were kids. Kids, out alone in the night, and in the jacket tucked under Kane's arm was a knife covered in blood. He was sure that at any minute a cop would clamp a hand on his shoulder, but Scotty acted like he hadn't a care in the world, nonchalantly swinging the leather rucksack as they walked.

Once two wrinklies _had_ looked at them curiously and Scott had acted quickly to allay suspicion before awkward questions were asked, tugging Kane into following on behind a young couple and their two small kids into a cafe-bar near the beach.

All six trooped into the dining area in search of a table and all six looked unhappily at the only free table, still littered with its previous occupants' dishes. Then one kid knocked over a half filled, cold cup of coffee and, as Dad irritably went to look for a waitress, and Mum, tired and harassed, mopped up the spillage, the little girl who had already been lifted into a chair and who was the only one of the group to have noticed their uninvited dinner guests, sucked on her dummy and waited patiently for Kane to climb into the seat next to her, while Kane looked at the chair and wondered where to put the knife now that he and Scotty were apparently stopping to eat before they buried the evidence.

"C'mon, they've gone!" Scott whispered urgently, dragging him back outside as the kid to burst into tears at being abandoned again.

Somehow they made it to the old church without any more hassles, where, sick with fear, Kane unceremoniously chucked up on the stone steps that led to the first gravestone, commemorating a Samuel Edmund Coates, one of the co-founders of Summer Bay, then he chucked up again, twice, on the path nearby, shaking with terror, wiping his hot forehead with the back of his hand.

"You ------- animal!" Scott said in disgust, pushing him to where Samuel Edmund Coates hereth layeth sleeping in peace. Or trying to. "Get diggin', we haven't got all night!"

"Here...?" Kane gulped back tears, half expecting Samuel's skeleton to leap out of its coffin.

"Jeez, we haven't come here to take up ------- bodysnatchin' for a hobby, dork! Over there, by the fence."

They dug for an age into the soft muddy earth by the edge of the cemetery, stopping only when Kane's guilty conscience imagined footstep or to catch a breath or straighten stiff knees, scrabbling frantically with their bare hands till they were bloodied and sore.

"Deep enough," Scott declared at last, breathing hard.

The pale moon shone on his face and for the first time he looked afraid though he hesitated for only a second before dropping the bag into the hole and nodding for his younger brother to yield the knife and jacket.

"They can't pin nothin' on us 'cos only me and you know 'bout it," Scotty said, as they kicked over the last of the soil. "And I won't dob ya in s'long's ya keep ya mouth shut. But you gotta swear it's our secret and you gotta swear if I ever need ya help diggin' up the stash ya gotta do it."

"Swear, swear!" Kane promised, shaking his head emphatically.

He'd have agreed to anything as long as the knife was gone. He never wanted to see it again. Scotty could keep the fortune, that didn't matter. Kane looked down at his hands covered in the blood and dirt that Scotty said they could wash off easily in the sea. No matter how clean he got his hands, he didn't think it could ever be washed away.

"Blood brothers," Scotty grinned, as the moon slid behind a black cloud.

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**_Today_**

Jamie knew he was smart. Heaps smart. He'd been the only kid in kindy who could write his name without a single spelling mistake or back-to-front letter. The kindy teachers said it was a real hard name to write but Jamie could write it all, no worries, you could do things like that when you were smart.

"You know my name's James Daniel Phillips? I can write all my name _all by myself_."

He'd said it so proudly that day in big school and he waited for Mr Wilson to gasp in admiration (Mum and Dad said Jamie had tickets on himself though they always laughed when they said it).

Mr Wilson looked at him and he even smiled at him. But Jamie wasn't fooled. The guy hadn't liked his Dad. That was the trouble with being smart - you saw too much.

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**_Yesterday_**

The minutes ticked by sooo slooowwwly. Face down on the desk, forehead resting on the back of his hand (he was meant to be sleeping) Kane Phillips carefully carved his name with a sharp stone while stealing glances at the clock on the classroom wall.

They hadn't begun learning Time yet but he'd seen the pictures in big bro Scott's homework book. Scotty had used _"What Time Does it Say?" _to block the draught from their broken bedroom window and Kane had curiously pulled the book back out again and spent a pleasant moonlit night, listening to Mum and Dad's latest drunken blue downstairs, shivering in thin pyjamas while a cold wind whistled round outside and Scotty snored, sketching matchstick men who climbed clocks, played footie inside clocks, and fell to their deaths off clocks, earning himself a bashing from Scotty next day for his artistic endeavours.

But, through looking at the pictures while drawing, he'd figured out o'clocks for himself. Big hand on twelve, little hand on ten...okay, okay, had to be...yep, ten o'clock. Jeez, forever and ever yet till both hands hit twelve, when he could stuff himself full of ...

"Kane." Miss Murray spoke quietly as she gently slipped the stone out of the little boy's hand, but most of the kids hadn't gone to sleep during "ten minute nap" anyway and welcomed the distraction.

Kathy Murray sighed at the badly scraped desk. She loved kids and she'd always wanted to work with them but the Phillips boys were the toughest kids she'd ever had to teach.

"It's very, very naughty to be cutting your name into the desk and you know you should be sleeping," she said, keeping her voice low.

"I fell 'sleep soon as I got into school yesterday!" Kane said indignantly.

"Yes, and remember what we said then? We don't go to sleep when we come to school. We don't go to sleep when we're working. We only go to sleep when it's nap time."

"Yeh, well, I _was_ workin' 'cos I'm gonna do Time like Scotty when I'm bigger."

The teacher blinked, wondering just what was going on inside his head. Some of the staff privately thought Kane and Scott were headed for a life of crime. It wasn't just the fighting, the stealing or the lying, there was a cold, hard edge to both kids. But Kathy Murray wasn't ready to give up on the youngster just yet, he was, after all, only five years old.

"No, Kane," she explained patiently. "You should have been sleeping."

Jeez, what exactly did these guys want? Kane looked heavenwards and kicked the bag under his desk for effect _a la _Scotty. And that was how Murraymints came to notice both the bag and the Easter eggs that toppled out.

"Oh, ------- hell," Kane said in mild resignation.

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"I found my Dad's name!" Jamie announced.

Soon as he said it, he knew he should've kept quiet. Well, okay, he was smart enough to know that _before_ he spoke but, hey, when you had a Dad as cool as Jamie's you _wanted_ to shout about it. His classmates looked suitably impressed, but Mr Wilson obviously wasn't.

It was tough for teachers, Jamie supposed, they never got to leave school and get a proper job like everyone else. And Mr Wilson was ancient - prob'ly 'bout a hundred - Jamie's Dad had told him he'd been principal here once when _he_ went to school! He wasn't the boss anymore though. He'd gone to teach in another country for years, and now he was back in Summer Bay, he came in just coupla days a week, being too old to work all the time.

"Yes, James, unfortunately that's your father's handiwork alright," Ron Wilson shook his head disapprovingly at the words _kane phillips _carved clumsily and indelibly into the old desk.

"Nah, I get called Jamie..."

"But it was a long, long time ago when your Daddy did that...uh...Jamie...and I'm sure you're not as silly."

And Mr Wilson smiled again. You had to hand it to the dude, he was trying real hard here. He couldn't help it if the smile wasn't in his eyes.

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"For diggin'." Kane replied patiently, privately thinking it was a silly question. Wasn't it obvious?

He'd spent the whole of recreation using the small brown comb to dig up slugs, worms and snails that he'd carefully put into a box and poured out into the classroom, hoping for school to be cancelled.

"And the money, Kane," Ron Wilson sighed. "Why did you take the money out of my pocket too?"

Kane shrugged. Was the guy a total dill?

"Jeez, why d'ya think? To spend, 'course."

Ron shook his head in despair. The digging had been last week's problem. Today it was the chocolate. The principal had even begun locking his office because of the Phillips boys, but Kane had needed only thirty seconds, thirty seconds while he was in the corridor speaking with a colleague and his secretary was momentarily distracted by a phone call, to locate the Easter eggs purchased for the Easter raffle, pick them up and walk out carrying the whole bagful.

"Kane, we can't go on like this. You know you can't go on being caught stealing, don't you?"

" Yeh," Kane said, gravely nodding agreement, pleasantly surprised that Mr Wilson should understand. "I gotta stop gettin' caught."

"You know I'll have to speak with your Mum and Dad?" And Ron Wilson shivered because the "hell houses", where the Phillips lived, was known to be a neighbourhood ruled by terror.


	2. Chapter 2

**chapter 2**

"Hey, babe!"Kane Phillips greeted his wife as he always did, with a tender kiss, and Kirsty thought again how lucky they were to know a love so strong. The round montage of photographs hanging on the wall told their story.

Their wedding days, both the day they eloped and their later, official, wedding after her family had grudgingly accepted Kane. The celebration meal the day they learnt Kane had finally beaten the cancer. Jamie, red and wrinkled, newly born.

Kirsty, fist raised and clenched in triumph, around her neck the gold Olympic medal she'd won swimming for Australia. Kane, handsome and happy, wearing his sea captain's uniform. The little family of three fooling for the camera the day they set off on the cruise ship Kane was captaining. Oh, for a while they had been so golden!

Then the shadows had fallen with a bitter, unrelenting cruelty. The final picture was the one that Kirsty's gaze rested on now.

Of herself, pinched and pale, sitting up in the hospital bed, a garland of flowers in her hair, Kane with his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders, their cheeks touching as they cuddled a grinning Jamie between them. Their recommitment ceremony, when they annually reaffirmed their love, had this year coincided with side effects from the medication essential to prevent her weakened body rejecting the transplanted kidney.

Gone now were Kirsty's Olympic dreams. Gone too were Kane's dreams of captaining ships to far countries. He refused to leave his wife for the long periods he'd need to be away and settled instead for the little cruise ship that took day trippers as far as Yabbie Creek and round Summer Bay.

And, knowing how much that lost dream meant to him, she held him so tight.

"You okay?" Kane asked.

She nodded. "It never gets any easier."

"I know," he whispered.

"But I don't want her to ever be alone. Especially not today."

"Me neither, Kirst." He picked up the flowers, biting back tears.

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Jamie tumbled out of school, yelling farewells to assorted mates, clutching a Shrek IV lunchbox and two newly painted pictures. Friday was normally the day Mum and Dad picked him up from school together because it was the day Dad finished work early and Mum didn't have TAFE, but today Anniedani was just arriving at the tree where the thick white blossom was falling like snow.

Last week Dad had suddenly picked up handfuls of the snowy petals and thrown them over Mum, just like they'd done at Anniejade's wedding, and Jamie had quickly joined in, both of them chasing her down the path, with Mum running away from them, laughing, turning unexpectedly at the school gate and firing Jamie's water pistol back at them.

"Suckers!" she'd yelled. "I thought you might try something like this so I came prepared!"

Jamie was used to other kids' parents staring when his Mum and Dad did stuff like that. It was like somewhere along the way they forgot to grow up and they knew they forgot but they still didn't care which made it all the more exciting.

"Sorry I'm late, Jamie, I had to go someplace."

Anniedani sounded out of breath, like she'd been running. She was like most grown ups, never dreaming of chasing round playgrounds, only glancing at the paintings (Mum and Dad spent ages over them) before declaring them cool. She always hesitated before she took his hand so, to save time, he didn't give her his hand right away and her eyes flickered for a moment as if she was wondering.

Yeh, he noticed that too. Funny the things he noticed and nobody thought he did. After that uneasy second they were okay, with Jamie jabbering away nineteen-to-the dozen about everything he'd done in school, especially about sitting again at the old desk where Dad had carved his name.

"Did you go to school with my Dad, Anniedani?" he queried talkatively.

"Not till we were much older, J."

"Did ya like him?"

Wow, that must've been _some_ question, Anniedani's fingers suddenly dug into his palm!

Dani looked down at her little nephew, choosing her words carefully. "I didn't really know him then. Guess I didn't know him till him and your Mum fell in love, hey?"

He nodded gravely, feeling somehow like he'd been entrusted with a secret. Maybe one day bit by bit he would piece together the mystery. But not today. Anniedani looked somewhere faraway and didn't say anymore.

They had almost reached the old-fashioned sweetshop on the way to Grandad's and he ran on ahead because Jamie loved to hear the door swish and the bell ring before they were plunged from bright sunshine into the store's dim grey light. He could have spent forever looking round at the shelves of oddly-shaped jars filled with lollies that wrinklies were always saying they hadn't seen in years, but at last he settled on wine gums.

He watched, fascinated, as Mrs Parker, the elderly lady who owned the shop and who moved very, very slowly, carefully positioned the stepstool, climbed up and shakily took the jar from the top shelf. Like a slow motion movie, she poured the wine gums into the scales, and took a great deal of time weighing the exact amount and scooping them into the paper bag before screwing the lid back on, climbing shakily back on the stool and returning the jar to its rightful place. Then, breathless but pleased with herself, she dusted herself down, put the stool back under the counter and took Jamie's money to ring into the old-fashioned cash register.

"Thank you," he said, taking his change. Mum and Dad would be stoked that he'd remembered to say it and that he was being sooo patient.

"What lovely manners, Jamie!" Mrs Parker remarked, making Anniedani smile.

"And another bag of wine gums. _Please." _He smiled up at the old lady and his aunt, sure they'd be real proud he'd remembered the magic word, and wondered why they were looking at him like that.

"'Cos I'm gonna give some to my Dad," he added, thinking maybe it was because they thought he couldn't eat so many lollies by himself.

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Kirsty tenderly brushed her hand across the small white gravestone. The wind was gathering pace, like it had done last week when Kane and Jamie had chased her with the white blossom, and the tree that towered over the little patch of ground like a jealous guardian was raining leaves.

She traced her fingers across the inscription and whispered gently to her child.

"Guess you're wondering where Jamie is, huh, Lulu? He's gone with your Aunt Dani to Grandad's, and hey your grandad's got that new kids' movie on DVD, the one...the one..."

She bit her lip, unable to say any more, and Kane, who'd been arranging fresh flowers on their little girl's grave, turned with silent tears streaming down his own face, and held her to his chest. They had been right not to bring Jamie to visit today. The anniversary of Kirsty losing the baby always hit them especially hard.

They sat on the bench where her name was engraved on the little gold plaque. _In Loving Memory of Lily Phillips_. A flower name, like they'd wanted, like Kane's late Aunt Rose. But she was Lulu to the family because Jamie hadn?t been able to say Lily when he was younger and had said Lulu instead. The nickname stuck. It was all they could give her to say she was loved.

The young parents wept softly for the daughter they had never known, two forlorn figures holding on to each other for strength, while the wind played in the grass and the church bells chimed freely over the Bay. And in Kane's heart was another memory. Across the way, at the other side of the church, lay a terrible, terriblesecret. Buried, he hoped, forever.

The tree that guarded Lily shushed and shook its branches fiercely as if daring anyone to intrude on their private grief. But it was too late. Someone unseen, unheard, had already watched and long gone.

And they carried inside them a terrible hate.


	3. Chapter 3

**chapter 3**

At the very edge of Summer Bay, in a little town called Summerhill, on top of the hill which in ancient times had been the site of an Aboriginal settlement, stood the "hell houses", once the grand homes of the wealthy, but now an area of rundown slums. In hot, dry weather broken drains often made the air smell putrid and the weeks leading up to that Easter had been exceptionally hot with very little rain. The smell hit their nostrils the moment they stepped out of the car. Little Kane Phillips didn't bat an eyelid.

"Best if ya don't breathe in," he advised, kicking an empty beer can along the path, noticing the teacher had his hand over his mouth, but totally oblivious to the crackle of menace in the air as a small group of men across the road intently studied both Ron Wilson and Ron Wilson's sleek red car.

"G'day, Ron! Long time, no see!"

As if he'd already been watching, Richie "Gus" Phillips appeared suddenly in the doorway, making the principal jump, and the threat of danger from the group relaxed a gear, though Ron sensed he was still being closely monitored.

Kane stopped the kicking game and looked warily at his father and back at the beer can. You never knew if Dad was going to be drunk or not so you tried never to make a noise or draw attention to yourself till you checked it out, but sometimes, though he knew he shouldn't, he forgot and played.

"It's not a social visit, Richie," Ron said uneasily. "I need to speak with you about Kane."

"Yeh? And I thought you was just givin' my kid a lift home 'cos he was crook. You wasn't too peachy at brekkie, was ya, mate?" Richie smiled down at his small son, who remembered the morning and the cereal dish smashing against the wall, and decided maybe now was a good time to get his father on side.

"Dad, ya know the cops never catch ya nickin' stuff? I keep gettin' caught so Mr Wilson's gonna help me stop gettin' caught," he piped up innocently.

Jeez, what the hell'd he said? There was a terrifying look in his Dad's eyes that chilled him to the bone.

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It was like old times, like going home, Dani thought nostalgically.

Tasha owned the caravan park now but Flynn and Sally Saunders ran it for her and when they'd had the chance of a round-the-world trip they'd asked Shelley and Rhys, the previous owners, if they would step in. It was an arrangement that suited everyone. Rhys was semi-retired and, apart from occasionally being asked to give talks on his days as a footie star, his main hobbies these days were fishing and walking, while Shelley was able to travel around quite easily in her work as a counsellor.

Things had been a bit strained in the Bay to begin with because most of the Hunter family still lived there, but it was a long time ago since Rhys Sutherland and Beth Hunter had had a relationship and Beth had moved on too. While they were never exactly going to be friends, Beth and Shelley were at least civil enough to one another, and, besides, the Sutherlands had something else on their minds. They were at last close enough to their grandson. At last close enough again to influence Kirsty.

"G'day, mate! How you doing?" Rhys was in the caravan park's private garden, repairing part of the fence that had blown down in the strong winds.

"You want me to build a new fence round the garden for you, Grandad?" Jamie asked, with all the self assurance of five years old, quite confident that he could.

"Ah...no thanks, we'll be right," Rhys said, exchanging an amused look with Dani as he gently punched his little grandson on the arm man-to-man . "Tell you what though, matey, I need someone to get the lemmo out the fridge, this is thirsty work,"

"No worries!" Jamie ran off to the kitchen.

But Rhys Sutherland's grandson couldn't help glancing back, wondering. Yup, he was right! There again. Secrets nobody wanted him to know. Anniedani, nodding at something Grandad said, and Grandad, running his fingers through his hair like he was worried about something.

Grandad did that whenever he talked to Jamie's Dad too. There was something about Jamie's Dad that some people, even Gran and Grandad, didn't like, but they never told Jamie why and he had a feeling they didn't want him to ask.

All Jamie knew about the secrets was that his Dad got sad when he talked about when he was a kid and sometimes cried. He wiped his eyes fast if Jamie was around though and he and Mum thought Jamie never once saw. It was nearly Dad's birthday and even if only Jamie and his Mum liked his Dad, they liked him heaps. Jamie had thought of a neat idea of how to make things better for him.

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Dad had sent him up to his room (for effect, Kane knew, not because anyone gave a damn what he did) so he was watching from the window as Mr Wilson checked something out on his car. Musta had his mirror broke or door deliberately scratched, it was what they usually did round these parts to say they didn't like stickybeaks here asking their stickybeak questions.

Kane chewed together the four sticks of gum that he'd robbed from old Nosey Parker's store (ha, didn't get caught _every_ time!) and blew up the biggest pink bubble to ever burst against his face, watching with great interest as Scotty came round the corner, spotted the principal and dived quickly behind a low wall.

"Kane! You get your butt down here right now!"

Kane sighed, deposited the half-chewed gum on the window pane for later, and took the banister downstairs, a much slower method of transport than walking because the stairwell turning meant he had to alight halfway to catch the next banister.

But he was in no hurry. Mr Wilson coming round was no big deal. Kane and Scott were always getting into strife at school. If Dad'd been drunk and Mum gone out that _really_ would've been something to worry about! But Dad hadn't started drinking yet and Mum was at home. He jumped off the final banister and was ambling leisurely towards the kitchen when a blow like a sledgehammer caught the side of his face.

"That'll teach ya to keep me waitin'!" Richie said as his fist came towards him again.

"Muuum!" Kane yelled urgently, startled and frightened at this unexpected turn of events.

Diane Phillips turned. She looked pale without her make-up but she'd gone back to bed in the arvo and hadn't had time to re-do her face. She was sitting at the kitchen table smoking and she flicked some ash into a cracked saucer.

Kane waited for her to jump up, like she always did, like she'd jumped up that morning when Dad had thrown the cereal dish and Kane had been quicker and ducked. He waited for her to say the usual stuff, the stuff that always got Dad to stop if he wasn't drunk, like she had that morning, when she'd roared, "Leave the kids alone, Richie, or I walk!"

And he waited for her to make Dad stop.

And he waited.

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Jade Miller sang along to the car radio, the usual rush of excitement sweeping over her as she turned left at the roadsign for Summer Bay. She hadn't phoned anyone. It had been a spur of the moment decision.

Seb was away for a week training with the paraplegic basketball team he was captain of and, Jade had decided to drive down and see her family. But it was Kirsty she wanted to see first.

Even though Jade wasn't technically a Sutherland, they had sworn they always would be twins to each other. The Bay always would be Jade's home, where she'd argued and laughed and fought and dreamed dreams with Kirsty and Dani, where she'd first met and fallen in love with Seb Miller.

They broke up when they were still teenagers, after Seb had been crippled in a tragic car accident, but a chance meeting years later had resulted in them falling in love all over again, and they had come here to marry last spring.

Her heart skipped a beat as she caught the first picturesque glimpse of Summer Bay. The church spire towering into the sky, the trees shivering in the wind, the sea dotted with sailing boats, water skiiers and surfers. On an impulse, she drove down to a quiet spot on the coastal road, rolled down the car window and breathed in the freshness of the sea breezes. Much as she loved the pace and excitement of city life, it was good to get back to the timeless magic of the Bay.

The church bells were ringing, bringing back memories of her wedding day, making her smile. For over a hundred years now the old church had been conducting Summer Bay weddings and christening and funerals...

Jade started, stricken with guilt. How _could_ she have forgotten? How could she _possibly_ have forgotten the anniversary of Kirsty losing the baby? But, unbelievably, inexcusably, she had.

She rested her forehead on the steering wheel, her mood suddenly sombre, thinking back to the dark days when nobody knew if her "twin" would live or die after the kidney transplant operation. Until then, nobody believed Kane Phillips truly loved Kirsty, but then, whenever he could be, he was with her, every second, every day, by her side, hurting for her, almost breathing for her. Where her twin should have been, would have been, if Jade hadn't still been reeling from the shock of discovering she'd been swapped at birth and was actually meant to be Laura de Groot.

It was hard to forgive herself even now for abandoning Kirsty. If Kane hadn't been constantly around, maybe she'd never have left, but he _was_ there, where Jade used to be, taking Jade's place...

A car beeped its horn, shaking her back into the present. Maybe it was a better idea to go see Mum and Dad (she'd never stop thinking of Rhys and Shelley as her parents) and catch up with Kirsty later.

The sun was still bright, the church bells still ringing, the sea still dotted busily with people and boats. Yet the day had changed.

The hill where the hell houses had once stood, now a national park, seemed to look down on the Bay with a strange, brooding atmosphere and cloud shadows floated gloomily across the rough waters.

And, as if it knew of the deaths to come, a cold ocean wind tore ominously across the waves.


	4. Chapter 4

**chapter 4**

Everyone holds on to happy memories of childhood. But if you don't have happy memories then you can always hold on to a dream.

Like the photo in the silver frame. It stood on top of the television set for years yet never got broken, not even when Mum and Dad were fighting. Occasionally it even got dusted, on one of those rare days when Mum was singing as she did housework, when she still had the part-time job in Yabbie Creek before she got caught with a half empty bottle of vodka in her locker, rare days when he and Scotty got home from school to find dinner prepared and maybe even something bought in for their packed lunches.

Of course they were still walking on eggshells till Dad got home because nobody ever knew how drunk he'd be and who'd cop it worst if he was totally blotto, but, for a little while, they were the family in the photo though he was too young to remember them.

The sunlight shone in through the window behind this family he never knew, the top of a carefully pruned rosebush just visible in their garden, the parents smiling proudly as they posed with their two small sons. A moment caught forever in time, when they'd gazed happily at the photographer, Dad?s brother Joe. Kane, perched on Mum's hip, was about a year old and had chocolate all round his mouth, Scotty, halfway through eating an ice popsicle, stood in front, freckle-faced and grinning, Dad's hand resting on his head.

Kirsty asked why he wanted to keep it when his childhood had been so sad and he told her about the times when Dad was blotto or Mum was behaving strangely or Scott owed him a bashing. But they _had_ been a family _once_. There was a photo.

And Kirsty didn't say anything, but she kissed him gently.

And now it was gone. Like a dream shattered by morning. While they'd been visiting their daughter?s grave, the wind that had torn down Rhys Sutherland?s fence had done one final act of damage, knocking the frame from the sill of the open window, smashing its glass and leaving the photo muddied and torn beyond repair.

The Sutherlands were preparing dinner when they arrived to pick up Jamie.

"Kirsty, Kane, great to see you? Shelley greeted them, her smile movie star wide and movie star fake.

"G'day, you're early," Rhys said, running his fingers through his hair.

"Surprise, Kirst!" Jade grinned, flinging her arms round her.

Dani was in the middle of placing a serving dish on the table. "There's plenty of food if you want to stay," she said awkwardly, with the effort she always needed to put into her voice whenever she spoke to Kane.

Jamie jumped off the chair he was kneeling on, knocking over the salt in his haste to tell his folks everything he'd done since he last saw them. But then he noticed that faraway look in his Dad's eyes, though he was laughing when Jamie told him about falling in the flour while helping Anniedani bake a cake, and he noticed Mum lightly place her hand on Dad's arm as she chatted with Anniejade. They were both real sad about something.

Melanie inhaled deeply and blew out a long plume of blue smoke.

"I'm tellin' ya, Mels. Stay with me and you'll be rich."

Melanie didn't answer. She didn't want to risk Scott's wrath again. It had been a hell of a shock when he'd lashed out like that. Her mouth was swollen and it hurt every time the cigarette touched her lips but she desperately needed this nicotine kick. It had started with them laughing and Scott had still been laughing when he flicked the television switch back to what _he_ wanted to watch yet again, and then the back of his hand suddenly stung her face.

Shocked, she had staggered backwards into the chair with the dark, red blood pouring over her chin and into the palms of her hands. That had been over an hour ago. The blood had long since dried but Scott had been drinking and she didn't trust him not to lash out again.

Melanie had met guys like Scott before and she cursed herself for being so naive when she'd lived on the streets long enough to know. But he had seemed different. Good-looking, the gift of the gab, charismatic. Been straight with her from the start about being in the slammer though he hadn't said what for and she had chosen not to ask. There had been warning signs and she'd ignored them. Thought it was sweet he got angry when he imagined she was looking at other guys and she had to calm him down. Even though the truckie who had paid her a little too much attention had been so badly bashed the papers said his heart stopped beating twice and his own wife hadn't recognised him in the hospital. But Scott had never laid a finger on Melanie. Till now.

She listened to the TV commentator babbling over-excitedly about the footie match and watched a mouse scurry through the half light and under the door. Jeez, she hated the ------- things! And if there was one, there were bound to be more.

The game drew to a close. Scott yawned and stretched.

"How about making a cuppa and some cheese toasties then, Mels, before we hit the sack?" he asked, as if nothing had happened between them.

?Yeh," she said dully, stubbing out the cigarette and picking her to the tiny, cramped kitchen.

Small wonder the sleazy-looking guy renting out the property had let them have it so cheap and hadn't needed references. The room was filthy with ingrained dirt and grease. She rinsed the blood off her hands with cold water and a peculiar-smelling soap that had been left by the previous occupant, filled the battered old copper kettle and set it on the gas ring, wrinkling her nose at the stench of gas as she fired up a match, and pulled out the grill, unable to stop a cry of disgust when she saw the mouse droppings there.  
"What's up?" Scott suddenly appeared in the doorway.

"Nothing, nothing," she said quickly, anxious to avert another blue.

He grinned at the droppings inside the grill. "If you'd growed up where I did you'd'a soon got used to that kinda thing. You wanna forget the toast and we'll have cheese sarnies?"

"Sure." Melanie reached for the loaf and froze as he grabbed hold of her wrist.

"Jeez, Mels! Anyone'd think ya was scared of me! I was only gonna say this ain't gonna be for long, y'know. Soon as my bro in Summer Bay pays me what he owes me we'll be set for life. You trust me, babes, don't ya?"

She nodded, forcing herself to return the smile. They had hitch-hiked most of their way down the vast coastline of Australia but Scott had recently acquired a rusty second-hand car and she deemed it wiser not to ask how. They were close enough now for him to drive down to the little seaside town but he'd driven there alone, telling her he needed to check things out first.

After what Scott had told her, she wasn't looking forward to meeting Kane Phillips, but she was looking forward to seeing Scott's hometown. She pictured Summer Bay with wide open countryside and golden sands, with a red evening sun setting on a calm river, where the cares of a city never touched.

Summer Bay. The name sounded so much like home.

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Jamie was already awake when he heard his Dad having a nightmare but he didn't get up and go into Mum and Dad's room like he used to. Mum and Dad got so sad when Jamie was upset that now he pretended to be asleep. No one, not even Gran or Grandad, would tell him about why Dad had the nightmares but he'd figured it out for himself. It must have been because Dad hadn't got any lollies when he was a kid. So Jamie had been saving up lollies for Dad's birthday prezzie. Except he kept eating them.

They were in a cardboard shoebox rammed into one of drawers under his bed, and every night when he got the box out to look at Jamie couldn't help sampling one or two. Tonight though he'd got even more carried away than usual.

There werevery few lollies left in the box, melted chocolate all over his hands and the pillow, and as for the jelly babies... he didn't even want to _think_ about the jelly babies.

A tear rolled slowly down Jamie's cheek for the best Dad in the world who was having nightmares because he hadn't got any lollies when he was a kid and, thanks toJamie, wasn't going to get any now he was grown up either. Feeling crook after eating so much and not wanting to spoil Dad?s surprise by yelling for Mum, Jamie drifted off to sleep still holding on to the box.

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"Kane, it's okay, it's okay," Kirsty whispered, as she had done so many times before, when the childhood memories came back to haunt him.

He sat bolt upright, beads of sweat on his forehead, blinking back restless sleep, trying to erase the harrowing pictures from his mind.

"I didn't wake Jamie, did I? I don't wanna scare him."

"I listened. There's not a sound from his room." Kirsty said, with a quiet smile. It was so like Kane to always worry about their son. She gently stroked his face with her fingertips. "You want to talk about the dream?"

"Nah. Thanks. I'm alright."

"Okay." She never pushed him but let him choose his own time.

"Babe, you know I love you so much?"

"I know, Kane. I love you too."

The love was in her eyes, in the tears glistening there for his lost childhood, in her quiet magic smile. How could he tell her? How could he bear to lose her love? She was everything to him. He could never, ever hurt her. He pulled her close and held her tight, pressing his lips against hers, wishing the kiss could take away her every sadness. He could never tell her his darkest secret. It would devastate her.

The knife, buried in the churchyard, would have rusted by now. But the blade would still be stained with blood.


	5. Chapter 5

**chapter 5**

"What's keepin' ya?" Scott demanded impatiently, leaning against the car.

He couldn't risk staying in Summer Bay for too long. He was wanted for some pretty serious crimes here and even though it was early morning and few people were about he was worried somebody just might recognise him and put the cops on his tail.

"Just admiring the view," Melanie shrugged.

"So it's a ------- beach. Life's a ------- beach." Scott guffawed loudly at his wit.

"You'd never understand," she muttered.

Summer Bay was even more beautiful than she'd dreamed. The coast road took her breath away. It dipped and curved and offered panoramic views of the countryside, of soft golden sand that seemed to stretch forever and of endless blue sea sparkling and rippling in the sunlight. Though it was barely past six, some early morning swimmers were already out on the water and the day's first sunbathers were adjusting sunshades and smoothing sun tan lotion on to their skin.

"What?"

"Lovely golden sand." She was becoming an expert at twisting words. Anything to avoid triggering his violent temper. There was a new bruise at the top of her arm from where Scott had pushed her yesterday and she was sweltering in cut-off jeans but they hid the deep, ugly gash on her shin where he'd kicked her because she'd angrily pushed him back.

"Don't'cha ever do that again," he'd warned, shoving her roughly against the wall. "You only get off lightly once. Mum tried that with my old man and nearly didn't live to tell the tale. Believe me, babes, neither will you."

Melanie didn't doubt it. Scott relished in tales of the late Richard Augustus (Gus to his friends) Phillips. How he'd killed a man in a fight in a crowded bar and not a single witness dared come forward to give evidence. Time and time again she asked herself why she was still with him. Only an hour ago she'd thought of running, but Scott stirred from his doze when the car door was barely a fraction open to ask what was going on and she'd had to think fast.

"Uh...I need some air, to stretch my legs. The heat's making me feel crook."

Thankfully, he believed her story. "Jeez, why din'cha say so, Mels? We'll drive down the coast road, won't take long. Be heaps cooler there."

She breathed a huge inward sigh of relief that he was in a rare good mood, probably because he was so close now to getting his hands on the fortune the brother had been keeping for him.

"Bayside Diner won't be open yet. Let's go find someplace we can get brekkie," he said now, slipping his arm round her waist.

"Yeh, sounds good." Melanie smiled warily, aware he could snap any time, for the most trivial of reasons.

She wondered if Richie Phillips' wife had been the same with Richie, always trying to keep the peace, always scared of rocking the boat. But Melanie wasn't going to be quite so stupid. That fortune existed and they were talking megabucks, she could tell by Scott's eyes whenever he bragged about it. Deep down she hadn't wanted to leave him...at least, not _yet_.

Because there was no way she was ever going back to begging on the streets, to being stared at in disgust, to the rats and cockroaches crawling over her drug-racked body, to leering faces waking her in the dead of the night. She didn't know how or when but she was getting her hands on that fortune. And she didn't care who got hurt along the way.

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"J! Coast is clear, he's gone!"

Jamie giggled. Mum was cool. She'd heard him creeping softly about in his room while Dad was in the shower getting ready for work.

"Jamie, this is _not_ a good time to practise baby elephant jumps...uh!"

Kirsty took in the scene of carnage. Jelly babies, Smarties and wine gums were scattered around the bed and floor, a chocolate handprint that hadn't been there yesterday stained the wall, four monster eyeballs, the gruesome American candies that Jamie _would_ insist on buying, were rolling towards her in a desperate bid for freedom, and a Flake had been crumbled to death on the pillow.

Jamie sat on his bed in the midst of it all, clutching a cardboard shoebox to his chest, his face streaked with tears and chocolate.

"It's Dad's birthday prezzie an' I was being real quiet so's he wouldn't know - but I dropped heaps," he sniffed, a fresh tear rolling down his face to join last night's zig-zag streaks.

"Looks like you ate heaps too, matey," Kirsty said, shaking her head at the mess as she sat on the bed beside him, thankful Jamie's "real quiet" thudding about had alerted her to the crisis before it got any worse, the mystery of why she'd been able to smell chocolate and candy in the room every night finally solved.

She wasn't looking forward to cleaning up but Jamie looked too woebegone and probably felt too crook for a ticking off and his thoughtful gesture brought a lump to her throat. Besides, she felt she couldn't say too much on this one.

She'd lost count of the number of times when as a kid she'd talked poor Jade into sneaking food upstairs for a night-time feast and insisting they had to eat anything and everything they'd snatched, no matter what it was. Their childhood home probably still bore the mark from the squirty bottle on an upstairs ceiling and neither of them had touched Tabasco sauce since.

"I was only _lookin'_ at it!" A second tear trickled down Jamie's face.

"Don't worry, J, we can fix things," Kirsty said, looking down at the box where several jelly babies with their heads bitten off lay with the monster eyeballs that she'd picked up and thrown in out of harm's way. Jamie's birthday gift to his Dad looked like a death threat.

"An' I didn't eat _any_ of the black wine gums," Jamie said, with a half sigh, half sob, stricken with guilt now the present was just a pathetic mish-mash of melted chocolate and sticky goo.

His young mother smiled, amused. "Well, that's very, very generous of you, Jamie."

"Yeh," Jamie said, brightening at the praise. "I don't like black wine gums. _Never _eat 'em!"

"Mmm, reckon what we'll do, J, is get a new box, packets instead of loose stuff..."

"Kirst! You with Jamie? Is he okay?"

"Ssh!" Kirsty warned him. "Yeh, he's fine, Kane. He's gone back to sleep."

She gently pressed her fingers on Jamie's mouth to stifle his laugh and whispered something quickly in his ear before she left. Jamie listened at the door. They were playing "last kiss" which always ended with Dad having to run or he'd be late for work.

"I won, I won!" Dad was yelling triumphantly.

"You cheated!" Mum shouted as he ran down the path.

She yelled up to Jamie soon as she closed the door and he crept down the stairs, though he knew Dad couldn't possibly hear him. It was all part of the magic of having parents who didn't care that they forgot to grow up.

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Jade felt more relaxed than she had in ages. It had been hard coming to terms with not being a Sutherland. Everyone said it didn't matter, that she'd always be family, but there was always that niggling doubt at the back of her mind.

Down on the beach she and Dani had been reminiscing about when they were kids and remembering a time when she hadn't known the truth had made her feel, if only briefly, like she belonged again. They were still laughing as they entered the Diner and high-fived each other, _Cool Chicks _style.

It was nice to see the old place had hardly changed. The walls had been painted a new colour, more healthy options had been added to the familiar menu and the music pounding out reflected the musical taste of today's kids. But, just as they always remembered, the delicious aroma of fries and doughnuts hung in the air, Colleen and Alf were huddled in gossipy conversation with a customer, and some teenagers were having brekkie and no doubt still falling in and out of love and friendships over burgers and cokes.

"Strike me roun, it's Jade and Dani Sutherland!" Alf exclaimed in delight, causing one or two people to look round in curiosity.

"Jade _Miller_, Alf," Jade corrected.

"'Course I know that, love, you caught me on the hop and old habits die hard. Seb didn't mention you were paying us a visit."

"Spur of the moment decision," Jade said, grinning back. As Seb's only relative apart from Don Fisher, Alf was almost her father-in-law.

"Though you never were a Sutherland to begin with, were you?" Colleen observed.

"Colleen, that's none of our business!" Alf exclaimed.

Dani squeezed Jade's arm. "Jade and I grew up together, Mrs Smart. We're sisters and we'll _always_ be sisters."

"Pardon me, I'm sure, I wasn't meaning anything by it." Colleen Smart sounded offended and was genuinely surprised.

She had both a grown-up son and a grown-up daughter but they and their families lived too far away to visit often. Colleen, who was the type of person who always had to have _someone_ to look after, had more or less adopted the Phillips. She had thought, when Kirsty's parents came back to the Bay, they wouldn't want her around anymore and had been touched and flattered when Kane reassured her, with a cheeky grin, that she was almost family and, as such, part of the furniture round their place. As "almost family", she'd felt entitled to ask questions

"Doesn't matter," Jade murmured, though it did, a lot, and it still hurt.

"Sutherland. So you'll know a Kirsty Phillips? I believe she's related to the Sutherlands who run the caravan park?"

For the first time Jade and Dani noticed the customer Alf and Colleen had been deep in discussion with. The man gazed back at them with equal interest. Flecks of grey peppered hair that was still almost black, and his face was weatherbeaten but, despite his advanced years, he was ruggedly handsome with an olde world charm and Colleen was flirting unashamedly.

"I'm so sorry, I haven't introduced myself. How d'you do? I'm Ron Wilson."

"Dani, Jade. Kirsty's our sister and it's our Mum and Dad who run the caravan park," Dani said, catching Jade's eye and fighting back an urge to laugh as they all gravely shook hands, the formality so unlike the easygoing ways of Oz. "Um...you're English?"

"No, Summer Bay born and bred," he said, to their surprise. "But I left these shores for England many years ago and only recently returned. However, I do tend to think of myself as English these days - I've even acquired an English accent!"

"And a fine accent it is too," Colleen giggled affectedly.

"Strewth, woman!" Alf said, amused.

Ron Wilson politely chose to ignore both comments.

"I know Kirsty through her son Jamie and because I understand she's shortly to become a colleague of mine at Summer Bay primary. And I know her husband because I taught him too, when he was Jamie's age. With his family background, I never imagined Kane Phillips growing up to become a responsible citizen!"

Jade ordered their OJs and the small talk continued but, mindful of Dani's feelings, they all skirted around discussing Kane Phillips further. Though he was married to Kirsty now they could never forget the time he and his brother had taken Shauna Bradley hostage or that he had raped Dani and torn the Sutherland family apart.

And even after all these years, even after all the counselling, Dani thought, he was still affecting her life. That was why she had to do something to make the nightmares stop. She stirred the ice cubes in her drink with the straw and chatted happily but she was a million miles away. Because she couldn't tell anyone what was in her mind.

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Melanie squinted through the splashes of rain that hit the car window. So this was the brother. Like Scott, he was good-looking. The uniform he wore made him even more handsome. Scott had mentioned something about him working on the Yabbie Creek ferries.

She studied Kane Phillips carefully, trying to read how he was taking Scott's proposal. He was shaking his head and making gestures with his hands as if to emphasise something. It even seemed as though he was going to walk away at one point and passers-by on the rain-lashed Yabbie Creek street glanced across as if words had become heated.

She trembled as she rustled through the glove compartment for their last packet of smokes and lit up a cigarette. If they began fighting, Scott might well take it out on Melanie afterwards. His brother didn't seem the violent type, but then again neither had her boyfriend. And violence was in their blood. They were the sons of a killer. She looked up again at Scott's brother and shivered. Looks meant nothing. This guy was a sicko. Scott had told her Kane Phillips had once raped a girl and even when he was just a little kid had pulled a knife. A carving knife that they'd had to bury in the grounds of the old church.

Scott finally returned to the car and she wondered if she dared ask the outcome. They had spent their last few dollars on brekkie and he was using any excuse to lash out. Scott himself saved Melanie the trouble of asking.

He grinned in satisfaction as he took a cigarette and crumpled the empty packet.

"It's sweet, Mels. He's gonna do it.? He unrolled a fistful of dollars. "And my kid bro was so pleased to see me he even gave me a hundred bucks."


	6. Chapter 6

**chapter 6**

_"Daaaaaaaad!"_

Kane had just finished his shift and was making his way along the wharf when, snatching him abruptly out of his thoughts, the human cannonball tore towards him, Kirsty following quickly behind.

Scott's unexpected return had unnerved him, stirring up a past he wanted to forget. When he saw his wife and kid it was hard to believe any of that past had happened at all. His heart skipped a beat with a rush of love for the two people who were his whole world. He watched in amusement as Kirsty, with devilish humour, caught Jamie by surprise, abruptly breaking into a run and overtaking him.

Jeez, it was so good to see her getting back to her old self! The health problems may have halted Kirsty's Olympic dreams, but her teacher training course was going well, her next placement with a much younger age group, at Jamie's own school and, though the Yabbie Creek ferry didn't go as far as he'd always dreamed of travelling, he got on well with his crew and loved the freedom of the open waters. And the proof of their love, Jamie, the little guy making people smile now as he happily raced the length of the wharf, stoked to see his Dad.

Like a symbol of hope for their future, a large misty rainbow stretched over the river where the gulls were squawking noisily, spinning and darting around the ships. After all the setbacks, after the tragedy of losing Lily, after Kane's cancer scare, things were finally coming together for him and Kirst. Or had been until today and Scott. He quickened his pace to meet with his wife - and, to his shock, Kirsty blanked him and ran straight on past!

She turned, crying with laughter at his and Jamie's astonished expressions.

"You nut!" Kane smiled, loving her so much.

Kirsty wiped her eyes. "Takes one to know one, Kane," she said, coming back to kiss him and steal his captain's hat to place on her own head.

Jamie grinned. It was cool having parents who were always fooling around. There was a large, deep puddle directly in front of him, just asking to be jumped across, and he took a giant leap - but didn't quite make it and suddenly found himself up to his ankles in icy cold water.

"Ha!" he said, with a casual toss of his head, pretending he'd _meant_ to do that.

"Mate, your trainees!" Kane said, though he couldn't help laughing. "I miss doing that!" he whispered wistfully to Kirsty.

"Count of three," she whispered back. "One, two..."

_The anger eating away inside made it too unbearable to watch any longer. At least at the church there had been the satisfaction of knowing he was suffering. Yet look at him now, laughing as if he knew how it mocked, splashing around in puddles like a stupid kid. All those years, all those years of pain, yet he got the girl of his dreams, had a kid who adored him, strolled around Summer Bay as if he owned it. If there were any justice in the world he would be rotting in jail. Yet wasn't there a saying about revenge being a dish best served cold? Perhaps after all it had been worth waiting so long and to wait just a little longer for wheels to be set in motion. A promise was a promise. _

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"Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr Wilson!"

Colleen Smart's "accidental" crash into the elderly man was so obvious that the young couple strolling hand-in-hand in the opposite direction burst out laughing. They had watched, concerned that she was ill, as she suddenly put her hand to her forehead and veered sharply left. Then she peered momentarily from under her hand, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips, at the distinguished-looking man who was leaning on the rails, taking in the magnificent sea views, until the storm force collided with him.

"Please, Mrs Smart, call me Ron," Ron Wilson said, gallantly steadying her, recovering his breath with difficulty after Colleen's hard head in his chest had so suddenly winded him.

"If you insist, but _you_ must call me Colleen." Colleen fluttered her eyelashes, struggling to gaze up into his eyes through the stickiness of too many coats of mascara.

"Colleen." Ron Wilson amended, with a quiet smile. "Well, Colleen, the least I can do to make sure you're alright is to buy you a coffee. Would you do me the honour of accepting?"

"Delighted," Colleen said, taking the proffered arm, looking daggers at the young couple nearby who were laughing heartily

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Rhys read the yellow, musty-smelling newspaper again, shaking his head. "It's like I always said, Shell. Bad blood runs in the family."

For Kirsty's sake, because they didn't want to lose her, they had accepted Kane as their son-in-law. But it left a bitter taste. No matter how much he had changed, he would still be the man who raped their eldest daughter. Violence was in him, inherited from his father. And now that their grandson was growing up with Kane Phillips as his father they lived in dread of history repeating itself, of the day that Kane, like Richie, had one drink too many and beat up his wife and child. And then what of Jamie? What if he too grew up thinking violence was the way to solve problems?

In the very early days, Shelley and Rhys had tried to convince Kirsty and Kane of how much money they could save, how much better off Jamie would be, if his grandparents raised him. But the young parents wouldn't have a bar of it. Jeez, they'd live on ------- bread and water for this rugrat, Kane said, eyes shining as he cradled his baby son.

Jamie uttered his own first swear word when he was two. By three-and-a-half he had acquired a "cool tough guy swagger", as Jesse MacGregor once laughingly called it. And at kindy, while he didn't exactly start fights and had plenty of mates, there was a very clear understanding that Jamie Phillips was not a kid to be messed with. While they'd lived away from the Bay, Rhys and Shelley hadn't been able to do much about getting their grandson away from Kane, but now they were back they were pulling out all the stops.

"The old story. Nature or nurture," Shelley said, casting her mind back to Uni and heated debates on the subject.

She frowned at the picture of Richie "Gus" Phillips that accompanied the article. The resemblance between father and son was striking. Just as it was with Jamie and Kane. Dani had said yesterday that when Jamie was a bub she'd been able to cope, but as he grew to look more like Kane it was becoming harder and harder. Their eldest daughter and her husband wanted to start a family but the memory of the rape was always there and, like Jade, she'd come back to Summer Bay to think things through.

Jade too had her problems. Seb had been told it was unlikely that he would ever father children. Much as she loved Seb, Jade was devastated. Since discovering the truth about her birth, she felt as if she'd fallen into an abyss and was still falling.

The plan to take Jamie away from Kane united them all. Friendly attempts had failed. They had no choice but to fight dirty.

Rhys looked with grim satisfaction at the article, forgetting he was tired, muddy and thirsty after a long walk in the open countryside. Shelley had handed him the newspaper, smiling.

For some time now, through her social work connections, Shelly had been compiling a dossier on Kane Phillips, to back up their claim when she and Rhys pursued guardianship through the courts. A colleague had chanced upon the newspaper when lifting old carpet and, remembering Shelley's investigations, passed it to her. There it was in black and white. The story of Richard Augustus Phillips being arrested under suspicion of murder.

"We mightn't need to go to court. Even Kirsty might finally see sense when she reads this," Rhys said, echoing Shelley's thoughts.

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The old church stood black and silent at the top of the wide stone steps, the ancient graves on the hill tinged by moonlight, the silhouettes of trees shaking gently in the wind.

Black sailing clouds drifted slowly past the moon just as they had done on that long ago night. He could almost hear Scotty's voice telling him to hurry, almost feel again the impatient jab in his back. He shivered at the thought of how close he would be again to the knife.

Every time he visited Lily's grave the memories rushed back, taunting him even in his heartbreak. At least after tonight, once he kept his promise, his brother would be out of his life forever. There was no way Scotty would hang around with all those riches. Kane took a deep breath as he turned to the steps.

A sharp squeal of breaks startled him and a car skidded to a sudden halt

Its driver rolled down the window. "Mate! I thought it was you! What the hell you doin' here? You alright?"

"'Course I'm ------- alright!"

Jesse MacGregor, unaware he had just ruined everything, glared angrily back. He too could be as hot-headed as the younger man, knew too how hard it was living down a past. No matter what you did, no matter how hard you tried, there were still people who looked down their noses.

Not so long ago, at a residents' meeting Alf was holding at the Surf Club, Kane had tired of the constant jibes one guy kept making about crims and their families, and had picked up one of the jugs of iced water Alf had thoughtfully provided and slowly and carefully poured the entire contents over his head. Jesse had laughed as loudly as everyone else, but it was the difference between Kane and himself. Nowadays Jesse controlled his temper albeit with effort. But Kane...there always would be that edge to Kane Phillips, that hidden darkness from his past. Perhaps only Kirsty would ever truly know him.

"Cool it!" Jesse growled now as he got out the car. "I'm on your side, remember?"

"Yeh. I know. Sorry."

"So...what brings you out here?"

Kane shrugged and thrust his hands in his pockets. From the corner of his eye he watched a cop car pull up, its occupants studying them both with great interest. To the cops, Kane Phillips and Jesse MacGregor always would be crims. There was nothing he could do now without arousing further suspicion.

"Ah, I couldn't sleep, ya know? Needed some air."

Jesse's frown deepened. It was one hell of a long, long walk from the Phillips' home to where they now stood.

"Look, you're a good mate, and if you're up to your neck in somethin' dodgy, then I'm not gonna stand back and let you stuff up..." Then he remembered something. He had bumped into Rhys Sutherland recently and Rhys had mentioned it. "Aw, Jeez, mate, I'm sorry! It's Lily, isn't it? The anniversary? Me and my ------- big mouth!"

"It's not Lily. Stay out of it, Jess." Kane spoke through clenched teeth. He couldn't bring himself to use their little girl as an excuse. Their loss was so raw, their hearts so empty.

Jesse MacGregor reckoned his friend was denying his emotion out of embarrassment. And he understood, suddenly embarrassed himself. It was a bloke thing. Chicks had heart-to-hearts, cried on each other's shoulders. Blokes bonded over footie talk and rarely mentioned feelings. He shuffled uncomfortably.

"You wanna lift back?"

Kane nodded dully. There was no chance the cops were ever going to leave now. He had no choice but to face the consequence of Scotty tomorrow. "That'd be good, thanks."

Jesse didn't want to upset him further over Lily and so they said little as the car swept smoothly through the quiet night streets.

"See ya," Jesse said, clearly still uncomfortable, as he pulled up outside the Phillips' house.

"'Night. Thanks." Kane soundlessly closed the car door behind him.

Scotty had taught him well when he was a kid, when he taught him how to creep silently when they broke into places to steal. Not a sound, not a whisper, broke the stillness of the night as he double-checked locks and alarms, looked in on Jamie, and finally entered their bedroom.

Kirsty still lay fast asleep, eyes shut tight, dreaming quiet, untroubled dreams, hair spread across the pillow, one arm curled over her head, her breath rising and falling in a gentle, steady rhythm.

Kane slipped into the bed beside her and in her deep sleep she flipped to her side, curving her soft, warm body against his, flinging her arm trustingly across his waist. He caught hold of her hand reassuringly though she still didn't wake. He had to watch over Kirsty and Jamie even more protectively now. Scott would carry out his threat to harm them if Kane didn't keep the promise. He stared sleeplessly into the moonlight remembering a scared little kid and a past that had come back to haunt him.


	7. Chapter 7

_**chapter 7**_

_G'DAAAAY, ANNIETASHAAA!" _Jamie yelled, so loud that at the other end of the line Tasha almost dropped the phone in shock.

Kirsty picked up the receiver again. "Sorry, Tash," she apologised quickly before handing the phone back to Kane, who'd just had a long birthday chat. Tasha was anxious for him to know she hadn't forgotten his birthday prezzie, but, for reasons he'd find out, Tash said, it had to wait till she got back. She turned to her small son. "J! What's with all the shouting?"

"She's in France!" Jamie announced helpfully. Obviously Mum had forgotten.

Kirsty grinned and began to explain to Jamie how Tasha could hear them all perfectly well, even in France.

"I...uh...didn't get you guys up real early, did I...?" Tasha asked anxiously.

She was leaning on the wrought-iron balcony of the hotel, enjoying the refreshing night air on her face and inhaling the heady scents of Paris. Lamplight shimmered on the dark waters of the Seine and the Eiffel Tower, where she was doing a photo shoot tomorrow, looked breathtakingly romantic. This was her first modelling assignment abroad and France had taken "La Tash" to its heart. But despite the glamour she was missing Summer Bay. She'd give anything to be with Kane, Kirsty and Jamie right now.

"Five fifteen here," Kane said, checking his brand new watch.

When the phone's shrill ringing had snatched them rudely from their slumber, Kirsty, like an excited kid, had plucked the long red box from under her pillow where she'd hidden it last night. It must have taken her ages to save for, he thought, his heart skipping a beat with love for her. They struggled to manage on Kane's salary while Kirsty studied to be a PE teacher, and the hundred bucks blackmail money he'd given Scotty (Kirsty assumed he'd paid a bill) had left them almost broke.

"Rats! I can't get the hang of this time zone thing."

"Aw, Kirst and me would've been up in an hour or so anyway and J doesn't know it yet but he's going back to bed. And don't ever change," Kane said, amused. Tasha was like a sister to him. Maybe if she'd been here in the Bay he might have told her everything. She'd been through enough in her own childhood so maybe, just maybe, she'd be the only one who would understand. But Tasha was a long way, away in Paris and he couldn't confide in her over the phone a secret that would break Kirsty's heart.

Tasha swung round on hearing a knock on her hotel room door. "Uh-oh, that'll be someone to let me know my cab's arrived! Gotta put a wriggle on, dinner date interview thing with a fashion mag."

"Wow! Go Tash!"

"Rather be out in the bush eating burnt sausages and drinking stewed tea out of a billy can," Tasha said honestly, in one of her usual disarming statements.

There wasn't time to say much more. Just time for a final 'happy birthday' wish to Kane from Tasha and for Jamie to whisper _'See ya, Annietash' _so low that nobody could hear.

"Louder," Kirsty advised.

"You said..." Jamie looked puzzled, then decided Mum must have changed her mind and realised he was right all along. The shout came from his stomach. His loudest effort yet. After all, Annietash _was _at the other side of the world. **_"SEEEE YAAAAA, ANNIETAAAAAAAASH!"_**

"J, I thought I explained to you..."

"You're gonna make some teacher!" Kane teased, laughing.

Smiling, Kirsty thumped him and slipped a CD into the music centre. Their song, the song Kirsty had sung especially for him at their first recomittment ceremony, filled the room, Kirsty's voice rising haunting and beautiful in the quiet of the early morning.

"I love you, Kane Phillips," she whispered, wrapping her arms around him.

They danced close, faces cheek to cheek, while Jamie danced wildly around them and the slow waking sunlight cast long silhouettes. Then the little family joined hands in a circle and the dance changed to a faster rhythm to meet Jamie's frantic pace, randomly swinging each other around till they were, all three, breathless with laughter.

At last Jamie rested on the floor, leaning against the wall, looking sleepily up at his parents who were whispering stuff they didn't want him to hear, stoked to see his Dad happy again. He'd cried a bit when he opened the gift-wrapped shoebox and saw the bars of chockie and packets of lollies Mum and Jamie had got for him, but Jamie knew somehow they'd been good tears. He closed his eyes and drifted into a wonderful dream of chocolate as his father tenderly carried him to his room and tucked him back in bed.

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Dani had woken early and gone for a long solitary walk on the beach, only turning back when hunger pangs reminded her it hadn't been a good idea to skip brekkie. Even then she was reluctant to leave, staring unseeingly out at the waves.

When she was in high school, before it all happened, it had been so easy to forget her worries here, strolling on sun-kissed sand under cloudless blue skies, watching the waves roll rhythmically over a blue-green sea. Sometimes maybe some hunky guy's gaze would follow her and she would pretend not to notice, secretly rapt. It took so little then to make her feel good about herself and the world again. A new guy's smile or the sun's warm touch or the panoramic views of the Bay. But that was a time when all she had to worry about were boyfriends or zits or unwritten homework assignments. A time before Kane Phillips ruined her life. The sea could soothe but it could never wash away the horrific memories.

Her mobile bleeped. _I luv u _her husband Mark had texted, followed by a heart and three smiley faces. It brought a lump to her throat. She wished so much she could talk to him about all this crazy stuff going on inside her head. She loved him, she should have been able to, yet she couldn't. He'd been so understanding when she said she needed to see her family again.

"We should have a break before we're tied down with kids," he'd said, unaware he hadn't figured in Dani's holiday plans, enthusiastically checking out the map, keen for them to drive out to the Bay's surrounding beauty spots. Until work commitments vetoed his leave.

Dani feigned disappointment, inwardly breathing a huge sigh of relief. Even if he managed the odd day off, Summer Bay was almost a day's drive away. Deciding against a long drive herself, Dani had travelled several hours by train, followed by a final hour on a hot, stifling bus. But it had given her time to think. To try and find a way that would end the pain forever.

She kicked her way through the warm sand, lost in thought. Her walk back to the caravan park would take her past her younger sister's house, if she turned off and took the popular short cut. Dani swung in that direction. She might just make it in time to wish Kirsty good luck on her first day in the new training placement, maybe, if she could bring herself to, even wish _him_ a happy birthday.

Until they could afford a place of their own, Kirsty and Kane were renting a small, quaint property that had been built in open countryside many years ago. Civilization had crept very slowly towards the eccentric little building with its uneven windows and crooked chimney pot, and, while it was still surrounded by greenery, there was now a huge field where the horses belonging to the Yabbie Creek riding school were able to run freely, and a zig-zag lane that led to the narrow winding cliff-top road and, eventually, the main coastal path itself. The popular short cut that led to the cliff-top walk and the beach was yet to be cleared however and Dani pushed back thick, tangled overgrown weeds as she neared the opening.

Her sister and brother-in-law stood a little distance away, about to get into their ramshackle old car. Kirsty, looking grown up and beautiful in a classy trouser suit suitable for school, was busily clicking shut a briefcase, Kane, tanned and handsome in his white sea captain uniform, was checking the time on his watch.

The car stereo was blaring out their recommitment song and in the back seat Jamie, without knowing what the words were all about, was singing tunelessly along at the top of his voice, bouncing up and down to the beat as much as his seat belt would allow him to. Kane said something to Kirsty that made her smile and she kissed him lightly on the cheek as they climbed in the car. They looked so happy together, Dani thought, suddenly freezing. As she had done that terrible day. Tears welled up in her eyes as the harrowing memories came flooding back.

_"Kane, no." _

He doesn't seem to hear her. He thinks she's still playing games. It's not a game anymore but she doesn't know how to tell him. She loves Will, she was only flirting, why can't Kane understand this? Why won't he believe her?

"Kane, no, please don't..."

Tears streamed down her face as though they would never stop. She watched the car nose carefully down the country lane and vanish round the steep bend. All the counselling, all the talking and compromises and mediations, it made no difference. She'd tried and tried, but the pain was still there.

Perhaps there was only one way to make it go away.

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Jade suddenly forgot her hangover as she read the newspaper article. She and Dani had met up with some old friends the day before. Of course they'd invited Kirsty along too but Kirsty had taken a rain check, saying she had her teacher training to think about in the morning.

Dani had been strangely quiet all night, steadfastly working her way through soft drinks, while the rest of them became more giggly and loud as they reminisced. They had got home in the early hours and Jade had staggered her way up to bed while Dani had been stone cold sober. She'd got up late and found a note from Dani saying she'd gone for an early morning walk to "clear her head".

"It was years ago," she said now. "And he wasn't charged."

But her heart was beating so fast. Having Kirsty back in her life would be a dream come true. Maybe she could even persuade her "twin" to come to the city to live with her and Seb. Once she knew this about Richie "Gus" Phillips, surely Kirsty would stop being blinded by love and finally see what everybody else saw, that violent streak bubbling just under the surface, that one day Kane would become like his father and brother.

And when she finally left him, it would be just like the old days, Jade and Kirsty sharing girly chats, so close they could often read each other's mind. She could introduce her to some of their unattached mates, Jason was very shy but great company once you got to know him, and Andy was a well-off career guy who loved sport as much as Kirsty did...

"I did lots of ringing round and research to get the full story soon as I read this," Shelley said, interrupting her chain of thought. "The only reason he wasn't charged was because every witness was too terrified of Richie to give evidence. But everyone knew he was the killer."

Jade nodded. She hadn't asked the question because she believed Richie Phillips was innocent, she'd asked it because she wanted to convince herself of his guilt. She pushed away the toast she'd been trying to force down herself in an effort to take away the nauseous effects of too much alcohol, too excited now to eat. Wait till Dani got back from her walk and heard all this! Soon, with any luck, Kane Phillips would be no more than a bad memory to every single one of them.

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Melanie was working hard at keeping Scott sweet. She cooked him his favourite brekkie to perfection, didn't complain the flat they were renting in Yabbie Creek was every bit as bad as, if not worse than, the last place, complemented him on everything and anything.

"That haircut I gave you suits you, Scott, makes you look real handsome."

"Ta, Mels, gotta agree with ya there!" Scott said, pleased, pausing from ranting about Kane to check himself out in the mirror again.

God, she'd never despised anyone so much in her life. Sooner she got her hands on this cash and away from Scott Phillips forever the better. The brother should have met them last night but he hadn't showed and Scott was ready to kill. Melanie had no intention of getting in the way. The last time she'd seen him this angry was just before he bashed the truckie so bad the guy had been rushed into ICU on the brink of death.


	8. Chapter 8

Thanks for your lovely review, KK Fan. I knew ppl were still reading because of the hit count but after only one review at the beginning of this fic I didn't think anyone else liked it enough to review so it was a fantastic surprise to finally see another one:o)

**Chapter 8**

Kirsty was enjoying teaching the five-year-olds far more than she'd anticipated. Her last placement had been with high school students, the age she was hoping to teach when she qualified, and a few had decided exercise was uncool long before Kirsty rocked up. It had been a hard slog convincing them otherwise.

The youngsters however were keen to learn, their little faces lighting up with thoughts of the unlimited dramatic possibilities when they were asked to imagine they were trees who could touch the sky. Though there were some problems with having Jamie in her class.

"No, J, you have to call me Mrs Phillips in school, remember?"

"Okay, Mum."

"Mrs Phillips."

_"Jamie," _Jamie corrected.

"No, _I'm_ Mrs Phillips."

"Yeh, I know, Mum." Jamie felt he was being very patient. But he had to make allowances. It was Mum's very first day at Summer Bay Primary and he remembered it had all been very strange for him too when he started school. "You wanna come for lunch with me and my mates this arvo?"

"Nooo, I think I'll go with the other teachers, J!"

"You didn't bring a packed lunch," Jamie reprimanded chattily, totally forgetting he was in the middle of PE as he sat on the bench to watch his classmates doing their stretching exercise. "Next time you can take my spare lunchbox and we..."

"Jamie, tall as a tree, please, let's see who can reach the highest!" Mrs Carroll said briskly.

Kirsty didn't know whether to be glad or sad at the experienced teacher's interruption as Jamie scrambled happily back out on the floor, and Jayne Carroll gave her a sympathetic smile. Not many trainee teachers had their own child in their class!

"Okay, well done, everyone! Now I'd like you to..." Kirsty was getting into her stride. The whole class looked like they were thoroughly enjoying themselves. And that was what she wanted to do, to make kids realise something that happened to be good for them was also fun.

Kane had told her he hated sport at school, though that had been because he was too ashamed to let anyone to see what his father had done to him. She smiled to herself, as she always did when she thought of Kane, of how glad she was she'd come to know the caring, sensitive person underneath that tough-as-nails facade when they'd been shipwrecked together. Jamie always said _My Dad _so proudly.

Kirsty demonstrated to the kids how to stretch their arms and cast her mind back to the first time Kane held his newborn son and his rapt, gentle expression when he swore to be the best Dad in the world. She loved the way he was so over-protective though she laughed at him for it. Like she had that morning.

"Promise me, Kirst."

"Maybe we will, maybe we won't," she teased.

"Babe, I'm serious..."

"_Daaad_, you're hurting my hand!"

"Sorry, J!" Kane looked stricken that he'd been holding his small son's hand so tight in his anxiety, and he crouched down. "I want you to make sure your Mum waits for me to give ya both a lift home. Okay?"

"Okay." Jamie gazed back with the same bright blue eyes as his father. There was no need to ask why they had to wait and not make their own way home as usual. Whatever Dad said, he trusted him implicitly.

"Kane, what's wrong?" Kirsty asked, wondering.

"Nothing." He ruffled Jamie's hair, stood up and kissed her tenderly, like he always did when they parted.

"I love you, you worrywart," she said.

"Say what!" He tickled her cheeks with his thumbs, gazing into her eyes, trying to make her laugh, but she could tell he was still stressing and didn't have the heart to tease him any longer.

"Ah, my Gran used to say it. I promise, promise, promise we'll wait for you by the gates after school lets out. And we'll be fine," she added. "How could we not be with you looking out for us all the time?"

"Anyone ever tell ya you got a cute smile?" Kane said, watching Jamie run to greet a couple of mates.

"Yeh. My husband."

"Your husband's one lucky guy," Kane said, grinning.

"So's his wife," Kirsty grinned back.

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Kane took a deep breath before he checked the address Scotty had given him and rang the doorbell to 4A, knowing he had to front up to his brother sooner or later.

He'd found an excuse to finish his shift early and driven home to change out of his uniform. Now he wore jeans and a casual light blue shirt. Unlike Summer Bay, Yabbie Creek was too big a town for people to notice strangers but a uniform would make him look too conspicuous and he couldn't afford to take chances. At least Kirsty and Jamie were safe enough in the school. Scotty wouldn't try anything with so many witnesses around.

Kane gulped another breath. It was like being that scared little kid all over again. The day they buried the knife in the churchyard...he could remember everything about that day. Even how it began.

_With sunlight sparkling on the sea and a cooling sea breeze blowing through the grass and someone's carelessly discarded potato chips packet sweeping hurriedly past like it had an urgent appointment someplace._

He was clutching a note from Mum and hobbling slightly. Laughing drunkenly, Dad had stood on his foot a couple of days ago. Mum had watched but done and said nothing. Ever since the day when Kane stole the Easter eggs Mum had watched Dad bash him and done nothing to stop it.

Sometimes she snuck back to him when Dad had gone and fixed up his latest injury as best she could. Sometimes she never came back at all and instead disappeared into her room, where she sat for hours staring into space, once even oblivious as Scotty walked in, helped himself to a cigarette from the packet beside her, lit up, and strolled back out again.

Often she had bruises herself but she never hit Dad back or even answered him back anymore like she used to. It was as though a light in her eyes had died, like the only thing she cared about was drinking herself into a stupor. His foot had itched heaps last night, and this morning the bruising had gone down, and when he told Mum she'd said he could get out of her ------- hair now then, and sent him off to school with a note to cover every occasion. One in his hand, two in the pockets of his trousers and one in his shirt pocket. He was trying to remember which was which.

"Ya got it?" Scotty and two mates suddenly stood in front of him, grinning.

He handed over a dollar bill. Jeez, he was gonna get in heaps if Mum realised it was missing from her purse. But he'd had to take it. Scotty and his mates weren't letting any kids through to school unless they paid. If he missed school again he'd get in heaps and if he didn't pay Scotty would bash him. He couldn't win.

"What's the face for?" Scott demanded. "You got reduced rates. Other kids haveta pay two dollars."

"I shouldn't haveta pay nothin'. I'm your bro."

"Yeh? Well, that's WHY you pay and why you'll go on payin'."

He hadn't understood Scott's humour then but the words made a crazy kind of sense now. He pressed the doorbell again, harder, and this time footsteps clattered on the stairs. This was the moment he told Scotty that after he kept the promise he was out of his life forever.

But it wasn't Scott who opened the door. It was a chick he'd never seen before though, strangely, she looked vaguely familiar. Maybe it was because that defeated air reminded him of Mum.

"I...uh...I'm looking for my brother," he said.

"I know," the chick replied. She was pale and skinny but pretty beneath dark lank greasy hair and she looked at Kane with undisguised fear in her large brown eyes.  
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"You okay?" Jayne Carroll asked.

"Yes. Thanks." Kirsty gratefully accepted the steaming mug of coffee from her colleague, forcing herself to return the smile.

"It's always tough on newbies," Jayne whispered sympathetically.

"It's tiring," Kirsty acknowledged. She couldn't tell Jayne the real reason she was feeling so down. It had been such a pleasant surprise to get Mum's phone call earlier, inviting her to lunch.

"All of us are here for once," Shelley said. "It would be a great opportunity for a family get together, if you can spare an hour or so for lunch...?"

_Kane's birthday!_ Kirsty thought, stoked. Normally they did nothing more post him a card. Maybe this year they'd all decided to surprise him with something really special and wanted Kirsty to be in on the secret.

"Sure! I'll get a cab," she replied happily. The caravan park was only a short drive away.

But it was obvious something was wrong the moment she walked through the door of her old home. The way Dad came to a dead halt on the stairs when he saw her, the uneasy silence, the look Jade shared with Dani before she suddenly became engrossed in guiltily curling her hair round her fingers, the way she'd always done when they were kids, if she'd broken a toy belonging to Kirsty or Dani, or was feigning innocence over missing cookies.

"There was no easy way of telling you," Shelley said. To Kirsty's bewilderment, she thrust a crumbling yellow newspaper into her hands. In a daze, she looked down at the words that had been circled in thick blue biro. _"Local Man Arrested Under Suspicion of Murder."_

"I don't understand..."

"This is the family you've married into, Kirst." Rhys had come down the remaining stairs and stood beside her. He spoke gently, sadly even. "Kane's brother was prepared to kill Flynn, Sally and Colleen in cold blood the time he held up the surgery. And we knew Kane's father was dangerous and violent too. What we didn't know was that he was a murderer."

"You and Jamie are the most important people in all this, sweetie," Shelley said, hugging her. "Kane will still be able to see his son after you've left him of course, but supervised, we'll come to some arrangement."

"Mum, why would I leave Kane?" Kirsty pulled away from the hug, feeling like the ground was swaying beneath her.

"Look what he did to Dan! What if Kane started being violent to you and Jamie? What if he killed you both?" Jade burst out emotionally.

It was then that the tears stung Kirsty's eyes. Kane had turned his whole life around, passed his exams to become a sea captain, been a great husband and a great Dad, yet still they despised him. She was surprised to hear herself speaking almost calmly though her voice wavered.

"You know Kane's really sorry for that and he wishes so much he could change what happened and I know...I know that doesn't make it right but after all he's done for us, saving Mum's life, getting us out of the mine, how can you all... how can you...?"

"Because we love you," Dani said simply. "We're scared of you and Jamie getting hurt and we want what's best for you."

Kirsty shook her head, looking round at her family through a mist of tears. "It's Kane's birthday today. I thought...I thought you'd got him a birthday present and that's why you called me here. But nothing's changed, has it? Nothing at all. You'll never believe Kane would never hurt us. You'll never forgive him for that one terrible thing he did."

She half ran, half stumbled, blindly down the path past the caravans, ignoring the holidaymakers' curious stares and Jade's footsteps echoing behind her. There was a regular bus service to Yabbie Creek that picked up just outside the caravan park and its first stop on the way was the primary school. In the distance the final passenger was boarding, and Kirsty ran like the wind.

The last glimpse she had was of Dani catching up with a wheezing Jade and putting her arm round her waist. The last glimpse of a family who would never understand. How could she even begin to tell Jayne Carroll, sympathetic though she was, what was really wrong? She sniffled, trying to stop the tears, and Jayne looked surprised.

"Hay fever." Ron Wilson suddenly appeared by her side proffering a box of tissues and she took one gratefully and blew her nose.

"I believe the pollen count's very high today," Ron said, smiling gently.

Kirsty felt suddenly that he understood. As if he knew all about how a family could tear you apart. Gran used to say age gave you great insight. She blew her nose again, glad Ron's white lie meant she didn't have to explain the tears to anyone. It was good to have a friend.

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The house was filthy and smelled of damp. Its two downstairs flats had been boarded up, the walls covered in paint-sprayed graffiti, most of it obscene. Half the lobby still bore the black, tell-tale signs of a fire. Obviously the hundred bucks hadn't gotten them much. Scotty was not going to be in a good mood.

"Should have brought a note, hey?" Kane joked to break the tension.

The chick had no idea what he was talking about and clearly didn't trust him either. She indicated the steep, carpetless stairs and waited till he was half a dozen steps up before she followed behind.

He walked with heavy dread, thinking back to the day that had bound him and Scott together forever.

"Kane Phillips, I hope you have a note to explain your latest absence!"

Mrs Reid, the new principal, was no pushover, unlike the young and enthusiastic but naive principal who'd replaced Ron Wilson when he'd gone overseas to teach soon after the Easter term when Kane had stolen the Easter eggs. For over two years, Kane and Scott had pretty much gotten away with every scam, but Mrs Reid had been promoted from within and knew the Phillips kids well. Scott was starting Summer Bay High in a few weeks and would no longer be her problem but wild little Kane Phillips had a few years to go yet and she was determined to bring him into line.

A note for his absence. Kane couldn't remember which was which. He handed over the one that was in his hand.

_Kane cant do swiming. Saw foot.  
Singed Diane Phillips_

Mrs Reid's face told him it wasn't the right one. He took the one out of his left trouser pocket.

_Kane cant do PE tomrow. Saw foot.  
Singed Diane Phillips_

Nope, didn't look like that was the correct note either. He tried the right trouser pocket.

_Kane cant play footie. Saw foot.  
Singed Diane Phillips_

_Had_ to be the shirt pocket then!

_Sorry Kane couldnt come in school yester day. He fell down sum stars and done his foot in and he cant do PE and stuff for a bit nither.  
Singed Diane Phillips._

"You must tell your Mum to stop burning herself," Mrs Reid said sarcastically.

"What?" Kane said blankly.

"I said it's the room at the top of the stairs," the chick repeated.

He shook himself out of the memories and entered the dimly lit room. Something ice cold and metallic touched his forehead.

"Bang, bang, you're dead," Scott grinned as his fingers curled round the trigger of the gun.


	9. Chapter 9

**chapter 9**

Scott unexpectedly lowered the gun and roared with drunken laughter. "Jeez, once a ------- drongo, always a ------- drongo! It's a toy, ya gutless wonder!"

Melanie heaved a huge sigh of relief. Each of the other three flats in the converted house was unoccupied. When Scott had suddenly produced the gun and told her to let his brother in without saying anything - else she copped it too - she'd been petrified by fear, cursing herself for going back. She had intended to walk when Scott had given her the last of the cash to buy groceries, but she had stupidly, stupidly returned for sentimental reasons. Reasons Scott would never understand.

While she'd been gone, he'd managed to sell off some of the flat's shabby furniture, bought a crate of tinnies and a bottle of whiskey with the proceeds, and been steadily drinking all arvo. There had been little thought of running when she'd opened the door to the brother, still believing the gun was real. Scott could fire at her back or Kane Phillips, who was even more dangerous than Scott himself and wouldn't know about the gun, block her way. Besides, there was something important she couldn't leave behind now.

Okay, the gun had turned out to be a fake but it had been nerve-racking all the same. Scott's girlfriend ripped open one of the tinnies and took a long gulp of beer. Sooner she got away from him the better, but she had to bide her time.

Scott grinned and exaggeratedly blew on the barrel of the replica gun. Kane watched him warily. Ever since he was a kid, Scotty had stalked his prey like a tiger, savouring the moment, waiting to pounce.

"Realistic lookin' thing though, ain't it? I found it in the glove compartment of the car I nicked. Maybe they had a kid, maybe the guy wanted to scare somebody. See, I can't afford to buy a_ real _gun, can't even afford a decent place to rent, hundred bucks don't go far when you gotta buy food and smokes and beer, does it, Mels? Hey, throw a tinnie over here for my little bro, will ya, babes?"

"Forget it, Scott, I don't drink this early..."

Melanie, who was in the middle of lighting up a cigarette, pulled a face at the interruption and chucked a can of beer to him. Scott caught it neatly and shook it up some more.

"Like I was sayin' (_he opened the can_) hundred bucks don't go far, 'specially when someone was meant to rock up here last night with a fortune..."

Kane ducked as his brother suddenly aimed the fizzed-up beer at his face, and angrily threw a punch back in return. Scott wiped his bloodied mouth with the back of his hand, satisfied he'd got the reaction he wanted, though the punch had surprisingly carried some weight.

He hadn't enjoyed a good fight since the truckie and his fists were aching for a good fight. He'd worked out daily at the gym in the slammer, pumping iron, building up muscles. His once scrawny younger brother had obviously been keeping fit too. Should make it an interesting match. Kane was strong enough now to actually be in with a chance, but Scott knew he'd never win.

Even in the days when they'd had the run of the school, Kane would foolishly give an opponent a fair go. Weak stuff, the stuff that meant he'd never amount to nothin' more than he had, a nobody in a dead-end town. The only time the killer instinct had ever kicked in, he'd stood there afterwards clutching the knife, white-faced, trembling uncontrollably, unable to even think straight until Scotty took charge. He owed his big bro for covering for him that night, and he should've paid up when the promise was due. Scotty was going to enjoy making him pay now.

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Kirsty looked up and down the road, biting her lip. Still no sign of Kane. She took out her mobile and punched in their home phone number and, like it had done five minutes ago, it rang and rang unanswered.

Most of the school had gone home quite a while back and the silence, after listening to kids all day, was almost eerie. Jamie was jumping on and off the low wall that separated the path from the school grounds, yelling for her to watch, and she watched absently for a while before trying Kane's mobile and getting voice mail for the umpteenth time. Maybe the weather out at sea was too bad for it to pick up calls. Maybe bad weather had delayed the ship too. He'd been so adamant about Kirsty and Jamie waiting for him to pick them up. She left yet another message, trying to sound jokey, trying not to worry.

"Hey, babe, it's me, still waiting! You know the birthday meal I'm cooking for you tonight? Well, it isn't gonna be _that_ bad! Love you!"

Kirsty closed the mobile, frowning. Her heart was aching for Kane. She didn't know if she would ever bring herself to tell him of her family wanting to take Kirsty and Jamie away from him when they were all he had in the world.

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"Is he okay?" Melanie whispered, looking down at the motionless figure. A trickle of blood ran down Kane's face and his head rested at a strange angle.

"He's breathin', ain't he?" Scott snapped guiltily. It was Kane's own fault. What kind of sook backed off like that anyway?

The fight hadn't gone how he had anticipated and it had shaken Scott up. Years of heavy smoking, heavy drinking and drugs had finally taken their toll. He might have been able to put the truckie in hospital, but Kane was no drunken, overweight truckie. Scott even got the distinct impression his kid brother was deliberately pulling his punches as if scared of going too far. But, though Scotty was taking a hammering, he was never going to admit defeat. It was Kane himself who called a halt.

"Quits?" he said breathlessly, holding out his hand. "Leave my wife and kid outta this and I'll help ya all ya want."  
"Deal." Scott made to return the handshake.

Jeez, Kane never would learn. Scotty Phillips always had to win and wasn't particular how. He suddenly swung his fist heavily into his brother's stomach and, caught off guard, Kane doubled up in pain.

Several years ago, when a more respectable class of tenants had inhabited the once sought-after apartments, a middle-aged couple had left behind a badly chipped, brightly patterned elephant ornament, placing it back on the mantelshelf for someone else's use. But, apart from a brief fling as a temporary doorstop, the flat's later occupants over the years had found no use whatsoever for the gaudy object until that moment. In one swift movement, Scott grabbed the heavy ornament with both hands and brought it crashing down on Kane's skull. His brother crumpled like a rag doll, lying deathly white and still, a line of rich, dark blood streaking across his right cheek.

"He'll be okay, Mels," Scott said, after a pause.

Melanie nodded. Scott sounded subdued, like he'd suddenly sobered up, and she didn't want to break this quieter mood. She was anxious to keep him on side.

"What we gonna do?" she asked shakily. The brother looked all but dead.

Scott pulled himself together. Thanks to Kane, things were totally stuffed up. He had to think. Fast. He'd come here to collect a fortune and he had no intention of leaving without it.

"Look, babes, we can't hang around here much longer. I'm gonna have to get the stash on my own, tonight, and he ain't gonna be no help now."

Scott had never bothered to tell Melanie he'd originally intended avoiding Summer Bay altogether. Among other things, there was the little matter of holding the doc and a couple of other residents at gunpoint. He'd visited the Bay only twice so far, the first time gathering information from people who didn't know him, the second time when very few people were around, but each time he knew he'd been taking enormous risks.

"So I wan'cha to wait here with him," Scott added. "We can't leave him on his own in case he carks it and I get years in the ------- slammer. Just like...I dunno, throw a blanket or some water over him, give him a beer or a smoke, whatever ya supposed to do to keep someone alive. I'll deal with the drongo later."

Melanie nodded. "Don't be long, Scott. You know how much I hate it when you're gone."

"I won't, Mels." He brushed back her hair. "I get the stash, deal with Kane, then we're outta here."

Jeez, he was the easiest person in the world to fool, Melanie thought, returning the kiss though it made her want to throw up. Did he really imagine she loved someone who kept beating up on her? Still, it had all worked out perfectly. She'd be long gone by the time Scott got back. Long, long gone, whether the brother was dead or not.  
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"Wowww!" Jamie said.

A heavy rain had begun to splash down and Kirsty and Jamie had retreated from outside the gates to take shelter in the school doorway. A thick coating of mud and brown water was forming in the soil and Jamie was eyeing it with great interest from his vantage point at the top of the school steps.

"J, you better not, you'll ruin your shoes!" Kirsty said warningly. School shoes cost a packet. At least they'd been able to put the trainers in the washing machine after the puddle splashing.

"Just _one_ jump...?" Jamie suggested hopefully.

"No."

"A very, very little jump...this big?" Jamie made a sign with his thumb and forefinger with a gap that an ant would barely have fitted through.

"No."

"What about if I jump on one foot?"

"Jamie, not negotiable!" Kirsty said, laughing in spite of herself.

"Still here, Mrs Phillips?" The door behind them swung open and Ron Wilson came out, carrying an old, bulging briefcase and an umbrella with a broken spoke.

Ron Wilson didn't talk much about his personal life but rumour had it that his wife had left him many years ago and that he had since divorced but never met anyone else. His hair had grown too long, there was a white iron mark on the crease of his trousers and chalk dust on the shoulder of his jacket. Colleen, who held the strange notion that men couldn't do anything for themselves, would have enjoyed looking after him if only their romance would blossom.

"Kane's meant to be here, but he's very late." Kirsty couldn't keep the catch out of her voice.

"It will be a simple misunderstanding. If anything had happened, you'd know. Bad news travels fast," Ron said sympathetically. He pulled up the collar of his jacket, gazing out at the pouring rain, lost in some faraway thought.

"I could give you a lift?" He asked suddenly, turning to her.

Kirsty hesitated. She'd promised Kane she'd wait. But that was before they knew the ferry was going to be held up or the rain would lash down like it had.

"Okay," she nodded at last. "Thanks."

"No worries." He said, and laughed. "I appear to be picking up the old language again!"

"Jamie, come on!" Kirsty shouted.  
Jamie scowled. "Dad said to wait! We promised."

"I know, but there must be a problem with the boat and he wouldn't want us waiting around in the rain for hours, would he?"

Jamie sighed and unhappily trudged with them to the car. Ron Wilson was a sweet man, Kirsty thought, as he chivalrously helped her into her seat, despite her laughing protests she wasn't made of glass. She really hoped he and Colleen would become an item, but so far all the effort was coming from Colleen, with Ron totally unaware of his apparently devastating effect on women.

Maybe she and Kane could get their heads together and move things along; Kane had become quite fond of Colleen ever since she'd helped him through the cancer scare. Half a dozen ideas had begun forming in her mind as they approached the coast road and the car took the bend too sharply...

...For some unfathomable reason, Colleen Smart was sitting in the bus shelter directly ahead of them and she jumped up from the bench, a bouquet of flowers and box of chocolates tucked under one arm, waving and smiling. But her happy expression slowly turned to horror as she realised the car was heading straight towards her. The collision was inevitable. Kirsty closed her eyes, dreading the terrifying moment of impact


	10. Chapter 10

**chapter 10**

But the moment of impact never came.

Somehow Ron Wilson managed to regain control and at the last moment the car miraculously swerved, then braked with unexpected ease, tilting them ever so slightly forward and settling them gently back down again, like some genteel fairground ride for the exceptionally frail.

Kirsty turned, overwhelming relief washing over her when she saw Jamie was still strapped securely in his seat-belt, even grinning at her. Colleen Smart gave a small whimper of fear, dropping the flowers and chocolates. Confused by shock, she tried to remember the speech she'd rehearsed, her plan to make Ron jealous.

"I...I...I got the flowers and choccies from a...from a secret advertiser...I...I mean, admirer..."

But Kirsty recognised the handwriting on the gift tag that lay on the rain-sodden ground together with dozens of scattered chocolates and flower petals. She'd read "today's specials" often enough in the Diner to know. Colleen always did a large C with an extra flourish and always curved a small 'n' in on itself.

"I'm sorry. I don't know how it happened," Ron Wilson whispered. He was white-faced and shaking.

Kirsty's heart went out to him. She touched his arm. "It's not your fault. The main thing is we're all safe."

They were all silent, realising how terrifyingly close to death they'd been.

"That was so _cooooool!" _an impressed little voice suddenly piped up from the back. "Can we do it again?"

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_"I thought she had a right to know about Richie," Shelley said in a tight, choked voice. _

"We were were only trying to help," Rhys replied.

"Were we though?" Jade was still wheezy and coughing after the asthma attack.

Mulling over the earlier conversation, Dani left the Summer Bay surgery without seeing the doctor, unable to face dredging up the bitter memories.

She'd heard the locum was easy to talk to and she'd thought, she'd really thought, she could do this, but in the end she couldn't. The locum wasn't an old friend who'd helped her through the mediation and counselling like Flynn had. He'd never understand. No matter how hard they tried, unless they'd been through it themselves, no one could ever understand. Oh, Flynn could help, he could listen, but...

Through hazy, half hidden tears she gazed up at the leaden sky, feeling suddenly so very, very cold. Maybe the decision she'd made on the long journey back to Summer Bay was the right one after all. This was where it began and where it should end. This was where the pain first cut deep into her soul and still bled like an open wound. _This was where she promised Kirsty she'd forgiven him and moved on._

Dani shook herself and returned to thinking about the events of the afternoon. Maybe Jade was right. Maybe they _were_ trying to fix something that wasn't broken because of their own problems. Rhys and Shelley trying to fill a gap in their lives; Jade, so desperate to belong; Dani herself, a successful freelance journalist commissioned to write a book about successful women, and a total mess inside her own head.

She still didn't know what she was going to do. Sometimes it seemed right, sometimes it seemed wrong, sometimes it felt like she was losing her mind. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself and breathed in a lungful of fresh sea air in a deep sigh. And that was when she first noticed the girl.

There was a lull in the rain now, but she had obviously been standing there for some time. She was drenched, her long, dark hair bedraggled, and she was swaying unsteadily against the rail that overlooked the sea. Glad to have something else to focus on, Dani crossed the road.

"Hey. You okay?" she asked gently.

Melanie swung round. "What the ------- hell d'you want?" she snapped, pausing from raising a can of beer to her lips, her grip tightening defensively on the half full garbo bag of belongings that she carried.

The alcohol-fuelled breath hadn't been what Dani was expecting and she took a step back, but, like Shelley would have done, she kept her voice firm and level . "You look crook."

"---- off, you nosey cow!" the girl spat back.

Shelley often complained that years and years of training never quite prepared you for everything, that some people just didn't want to be helped. Yet Dani had a feeling that something other than drink had unsettled the girl. And for some reason, she found herself wondering how Kirsty would handle things. People connected with Kirsty. It had always been that way.

Like the time the Sutherlands had taken in Hannah Clegg, struck dumb by the trauma of seeing a speeding car mow down and seriously injure her mother and toss her father high into the air, killing him outright. Shelley was fostering Hannah while her mother was in hospital and everyone had gone out of their way to make a fuss of the little girl and smother her with expensive gifts. Everyone except Kirsty.

Instead, Kirsty had done heaps of little things, drawing pictures with Hannah or making up bedtime stories or just sitting quietly next to her when she sat staring unseeingly at the TV screen. And after a while the three-year-old took to following her everywhere. "Kirsty" was the first word she spoke in two weeks.

Dani ditched Shelley's professional training. Kirsty would have been herself. She shrugged. "I just stuffed up big time. I guess I'm trying to take my mind off my own problems."

"_You_ stuffed up?" Melanie's tone was less aggressive.

"Yeh. Why not me?"

"You seem like Little Miss Perfect. Like nothing ever goes wrong for you."

"I wish."

Melanie took another swig of beer. She wished she'd brought more but she couldn't chance not having her wits about her. Not now. Pity. Drink blotted out all the painful memories.

"I_ nearly _stuffed up. I nearly got the doc out for him. Been here ages thinking about it long and hard, you know? Because I thought...I thought...well, he didn't _seem_ evil. He seemedsomehow like...like he might have cared. But he _was_ evil. I knew what he'd done. And now he's badly hurt and he's dying. So why should I care? He can die."

Dani was stunned. "You...you can't just leave someone to _die_..." She stammered.

Melanie laughed mockingly. "No, you wouldn't in your perfect little world, would you? But let me tell you something, Little Miss Perfect. If you'd ever been raped, you would."

_"Kane, no." _

He doesn't seem to hear her. He thinks she's still playing games. It's not a game anymore but she doesn't know how to tell him. She loves Will, she was only flirting, why can't Kane understand this? Why won't he believe her?

"Kane, no, please don't...?

"This...this guy raped you?"

"No, not me. But he raped some other poor bitch." Melanie finished the beer and squeezed the empty can so hard her knuckles turned white. "But it's happened to me too. I know the hell that chick went through. When you've been a victim of rape you don't ever forget."

"I was," Dani whispered.

Melanie stared at her, taken aback. It was the last thing she expected of this sophisticated, slightly snobby, slim chick, with her perfect make-up, glossy hair and designer gear looking like she'd just stepped off the catwalk. For a crazy moment, she even wondered if she was joking. But rape wasn't something you joked about and the truth was in her eyes.

One of the Bay's notorious sudden storms was about to hit. Large rainclouds were sweeping across the angry sea towards the Bay, the sky grew darker and darker and a strong wind began swirling the waves. They watched together in silence. In sisterhood.

"Then you'll understand," Melanie said at last. "It's one less sicko in the world if this b------ carks it."

From a distance the bells of the old church chimed and Melanie turned abruptly without saying anything more, making her way unsteadily towards the bus station. Dani didn't try to stop her.

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The bells of the old church were chiming furiously, as if to remind Scotty of how little time was left, of how much time had been wasted already. He dug frantically over and over and over. It was here they'd buried it. He knew it was here. It _had_ to be here! But it wasn't.

The rucksack had been buried with the knife and jacket, near the slope on the perimeter of the graveyard and field, and he'd found the filthy, bloodied jacket, ragged now with age, and the knife, caked now with dried blood and dirt. But there was no bag full of riches.

And he thought of the years and the nights he'd lain awake in the slammer, when he'd grinned into the darkness, picturing himself finally digging up the fortune. Jeez, he'd been such a ------- drongo! He gave a cry of rage, drowned out by the bells and the howling wind.

Only one other person had known exactly where the bag was buried. Burning with anger, he crumpled the jacket and threw it back into its old burial site, stamping it viciously into the ground, and wiped the mud from the knife before placing it carefully inside his coat. Kane would pay for this. Heavily.

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"Thanks!" Kirsty called, as she and Jamie jumped out of the car.

"You're very welcome - I mean no worries," Ron Wilson smiled back.

Ron was going to drop Colleen off at her home in the caravan park and, looking like the cat that got the cream, she moved into the front seat vacated by Kirsty, totally recovered now from the near miss and relieved no one had asked her why she'd been pretending to wait for a bus to Yabbie Creek in the first place. It had been worth waiting and waiting for Ron's car to pass its usual way after all.

Kirsty pushed the key into the door and turned the lock, relieved to be home. The sky had turned black and the wind was growing strong, always a prelude to one of Summer Bay's infamous sudden storms, and indoors was the only safe place to be. She reached for the light switch and there was a brief flash of light before the blackness.

"Mum, it's very dark!" Jamie helpfully stated the obvious.

_"_Thanks for letting me know, Jamie!" Kirsty laughed to hide her anxiety from her young son.

She stumbled through the dark to the phone, desperate to hear Kane's voice again. But the phone was dead, the lines brought down by the strong winds that were wailing round the isolated little house. She clicked her mobile and cursed inwardly when she saw the battery had gone flat. A growing sense of unease was sweeping over Kirsty, but Jamie was relying on her so she swallowed and spoke calmly, confidently, as if nothing was wrong. "We'd best get the box then, J."

Like most people who lived in the little seaside towns that dotted the coast, the Phillips were familiar with the freak storms and kept an "emergency box". Kirsty took theirs from the shelf of the walk-in cupboard and set two candle-holders on the table, her heart beating fast as she lit two long candles.

_"SHADOWS!" _Jamie yelled suddenly, startling her.

"Look - there's our shadows on the wall!" Jamie waved both arms at the smaller shadow, blissfully unaware he had just scared his mother half to death.

He turned to Kirsty, his face glowing happily in the flickering candlelight, his eyes a sparkling blue. "Are we lighting these for my Dad's birthday?"

"I suppose we are," Kirsty said, smiling, thinking how much he looked like Kane.

The colour of his eyes, that mischievous grin, his tousled hair. For her son's sake, she kept the smile and choked back the tears as Jamie was busy checking out the cold snacks, soft drinks and games that were in the emergency box while singing to himself "Happy birthday dear Dad".

Ice cold shivers were running down her spine.

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The last thing he remembered before blacking out was doing a deal with Scotty. They shook hands on it.

Down on the beach where the sand was hot and the sea rippled in the breeze. Scotty warned "You better not stuff up" and then they shook hands and split because there were hours yet before they could do the job and Scott didn't want him hanging round with him and his mates.

Scott's class had been given the arvo off school because of some older students needing to use their classroom to take an exam and Kane hadn't realised Scotty, Lew and Paul had followed him down to the secluded spot until it was too late. Normally they pelted him with stones or bashed him or threw him in the water, but today, to his enormous relief because he felt real crook, all that happened was Scotty coming down alone to tell him he'd dob him in for wagging school unless he did what he said, and then they'd shot through.

The heat was relentless. Kane longed to cool down in the sea but he couldn't go swimming in case anyone saw the scars on his back. That was why he'd wagged school soon as he'd got his arvo attendance mark. Mum had provided him with all those notes including one excusing him from the swimming lesson but he wasn't sure that would cut it with Dragon Face Reid and if anyone ever saw what Dad had done to him he there'd be hell to pay. Because Dad would beat him worse than ever.

Jeez, though, he was ------- hungry! He hadn't eaten anything since yesterday morning because there was nothing in the house to eat. 'Course, he'd searched the kitchen bin but all he'd found were empty bottles and cans and the wrappings from Mum and Dad's Chinese takeaway and, just when he'd been thinking of putting the remains from the foil container into a pan, Dad had come along and rammed the silver container on his head like a hat to teach him a lesson for rummaging in the garbo, which made Scotty laugh till he cried.

But it was okay for Scotty. He could afford to buy food with his nice little scam of taking cash off kids on their way into school. Kane had debated whether to take more than a dollar from Mum's welfare money but the other notes were for far too large amounts for her not to notice. But he wished he had now. He wished he didn't feel so crook with hunger and that his ears weren't popping and the world wasn't spinning crazily.

And as he left the world behind an overwhelming sadness filled his heart because he knew he would never, ever see again the girl with the magic smile.


	11. Chapter 11

**chapter 11**

Going down to the caravan site again was the first thing Kane thought of when he woke to find the clouds were chasing each other through the sky, and splashed some water from the rock pool on to his face, waiting for the sick feeling to pass.

Taking the longer route through the little park because the trees there made the air cooler had been a stroke of genius. Someone had been feeding the ducks and had left behind on a bench a cellophane bag full of broken bits of bread and cake. A couple of seagulls swooped down hopefully and a wasp buzzed nearby but they didn't stand a chance. Kane and the bag were gone in an instant.

Now he sat on the fence on the edge of the caravan site, stuffing himself with bread and cake and passing the time away by making pictures out of the clouds. A woman holding a baby, an old man with a beard, a grotesque screaming face that split and became two small plump dancing clowns. The hard, dry bread tasted gross but the sugariness of the cake turned it into a feast and the hunger pains had gone. Refreshed, he jumped down from the fence and, like he did often, went to look again for the little girl who'd made that summer so special. _(See Author's Note Below)_

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"If it's too strong, say so."

Shelley sat at the computer desk, but the computer was down and she'd had to resort to keeping notes on bookings and repairs with pen and paper. She looked up from the paperwork as Rhys set down the mug of tea. She already knew it was too strong. One look at the dark brown liquid was enough to know. But she took a sip and pronounced it fine.

The emergency generator had kicked into action since the storm cut the electrics but the lighting was dim and Rhys looked pale and tired. They were used to the Bay's sudden storms but most outsiders weren't and there were constant knocks on the door and requests for him to check out something or other. Thanks to calor gas, the caravanners could still cook and had warmth and even some light, but, while most were regarding the storm as a great holiday adventure, some seemed to think the Sutherlands were personally responsible for the bad weather. And the site was much bigger than it used to be when they ran the park. Rhys was beginning to wish that Sally and Flynn hadn't agreed with Tasha to re-introduce the larger family caravans that had been removed several years ago.

A rare break had given him the chance of this cuppa and Shelley thought he looked too exhausted to go into the kitchen again. She'd drink the too strong tea for his sake even if it did taste bitter. As it happened, it didn't matter anyway. Tiny pieces of white from the crumbling newspaper were scattered all over the desk and as she brushed them away her hand toppled the mug, the tea soaking a fat manilla folder and dripping down on the carpet.

Rhys quickly snatched up a cloth, mopping up the spillage. "It'll dry out, Shell," he said. "If it doesn't, we'll just have to estimate the caravan costs for Flynn and Sal."

"It's Kane's file."

"Ah." Rhys stopped mopping, trying to gage whether Kane's file mattered or not.

Kirsty's reaction hadn't been what they'd expected. She was meant to understand they were her family, they loved her, they loved Jamie, they wanted to protect them. Maybe Kane wasn't a bad person, but violence was bred in him from childhood. All it took was for him to start drinking like his father had done and he wouldn't be able to help himself. If only Kirsty had listened. If only she'd have seen this way there would be no messy court case, no ill feelings. They'd never stop Jamie from seeing his Dad, there'd be regular supervised visits. It would all be so civilized. But Kirsty had looked at them like they hated her. So hurt, so bewildered.

"We've lost her, Rhys. We were only looking out for Kirsty and now we've lost our daughter and our grandchild."

"You don't know that..."

"Oh, but I do. Kirsty will tell Kane everything. She always does. And Kane will make us out to be the bad guys and say it's best if Kirsty and Jamie never saw us again. Maybe he'll even talk her into going to live in some distant country, anything to keep us away."

Rhys squeezed his wife's shoulder. He couldn't tell her he had the same doubts. "It won't come to that."

A frantic hammering on the door interrupted them. There was a hurried conversation on the porch, some other problem to sort.

"Sorry, Shell," Rhys said, picking up his coat.

Then he was gone into the night and Shelley was alone once more. She had done so much work to try and keep her grandson in her life and now it looked like she had lost him forever. She felt suddenly very old and very tired.

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Jade lay in the dark room listening to the storm. She had told her family the asthma attack had taken it out of her and she need to rest. But it wasn't the asthma that had tired her out. It was something she hadn't told anyone, not even Seb. She'd been fooling herself for so long, trying to pretend it wasn't happening, but the truth was she was getting worse.

The breathlessness and dizzy spells were becoming even more frequent. Deep down Jade knew the earlier nausea hadn't been the effects of too much alcohol. Though she had got tipsy, she'd deliberately paced herself. She knew what the real reason was..

Jade had been told the De Groot family's medical history and what she had been told terrified her. She had thought she could cry no more but still the tears fell thick and fast. She wanted so badly to talk with Kirsty.

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It was months now since Kirsty had stayed here. He gazed at Caravan 179 like he had done so often before, always hoping one day she would return. Looked like the latest occupants had left and another family was expected. Maybe, just maybe, the kid with the magic smile would come again.

The windows were flung wide open and a plump woman in a blue overall with the Summer Bay Staff motif written on its pocket was carrying a vacuum cleaner up the steps while Ernie Hopkins, the odd job man, was standing by a small truck and checking things against a clipboard.

Kane and Scotty knew Ernie well. He was the one they had to watch out for when they were stealing from the caravans. And Ernie certainly made himself easy to look for with his unique taste in clothes. Giant black and white cartoon characters, little men with round faces and bowler hats, adorned today's chosen shirt. Scotty had remarked once, when they'd nicked a dozen sunnies from the reception area, that they'd only started selling them because most folk couldn't cope with the glare of Ernie's shirts.

Kane ducked quickly behind the walled-off garbo section as Ernie glanced round. It was a reflex action. He hadn't been robbing but he was off school when he shouldn't be and he was sure Ernie wouldn't lose the chance to dob him in.

"Hide and seek, is it?"

"I guess." Kane put on his best cute-little-kid smile for the benefit of the silver-haired old lady with the Pekinese dog tucked under her arm.

"Hmm. Shouldn't you be at school, young man?"

He looked innocently up at her. "I've been real crook so the olds brought me on holiday to get better. I had _heaps_ of operations and nearly carked it."

The Pekinese looked totally unconvinced. The old lady's heart flipped. The story sounded incredibly far-fetched, but she couldn't believe anyone with such beautiful blue sparkling eyes was capable of lying.

"They even had to write me a death letter for the very last time," Kane added, for dramatic effect. Scott was always telling him to milk it for all he was worth when someone looked like falling for a sob story. You never knew what you might get out of it.

"A _death letter...?"  
_  
"Yeh. I don't remember much 'bout it myself 'cos I was in the middle of dyin' but I think everyone sat round my bed and signed it before they gave it to me. It's called the last writes."

"The last rites." Ethel Winter said. A lump came to her throat for the small, pale, skinny little boy, who had been so close to death and who had obviously overheard his family talking about it afterwards, but was far too young to understand.

"Yeh. The last writes." Kane agreed. He'd seen it in a movie. The guy's wife said they'd been so sure he was gonna die that they'd given him the last writes.

"You poor child!" To the Pekinese's disgust, Ethel took some coins from her purse and placed them in Kane's hand. "You go buy yourself a nice big ice-cream."

"Ta!" Kane debated whether or not to tell her that they'd made him eat a spoonful of soil as well. He knew that happened too when you were close to carking it because Mum, whenever she dropped food on the floor and flung it back on the plate, said it didn't matter, you had to eat a peck of muck before you died. But the Pekinese was yapping impatiently for a walk and the wrinklie had set the dog down and clipped on its lead.

They'd demolished the caravan site shop where once he and Scotty had filled their pockets with stolen toys . There was something sad about that, like it belonged to a yesterday that could never come back.

He bought some chocolate and a can of Coke from the kiosk and for a long time stood at the spot where the shop used to be, remembering the day he and Kirsty had floated ice popsicle sticks there, in a puddle in the shop's garden. He knew the memories were beginning to fade.

So much happened at home, so many times he was crushed by the weight of Dad's blows or shivered through the nights when he was forced to sleep outside. So often he hid at the halfway point on the stairs listening to his parents' drunken fighting, or lived on his wits to make money or to avoid a bashing.

There was no time now for being a kid anymore like he'd been a kid that summer with Kirsty, when there'd been boat trips and theme parks and fairy floss. He tried in vain to remember the names of her sisters. She had a twin, he remembered that much, and that her name began with a J, Jessica or Jasmine or something. And the twin always carried a doll...or it might have been a teddy bear... and there was an older sister who bossed them around heaps. And Kirsty's Gran had worn small round glasses...or were the glasses square?...or had she worn glasses at all...? It was so hard to remember anything about that summer now.

He wove his way around every inch of the site, like he'd done so often before, always hoping one day to see again the kid with the magic smile.

The ornamental lamp, where they'd kissed and her kiss had tasted of chocolate and salty tears, was broken. Angry tears sprang to his eyes. They'd fix it some time, tonight or tomorrow or the next day, but it was broken _now_ and that wasn't fair, it was _his_ memory of Kirsty, things were meant to be how he remembered.

But each day the memories faded a little more and childhood slipped a little further from his grasp like snowflakes melting in the palm of his hand.

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"There's someone tappin' on the window," Jamie said.

"It's just the wind, Jamie. Only a madman would come out here tonight in this weather," Kirsty answered absently, concentrating on the game to take her mind off worrying about her husband. There had been some dominoes in the emergency box but she couldn't remember how to play and Jamie was probably too young to understand the rules anyway so instead they'd built a tunnel with the blocks and were playing table footie by blowing balls of paper through with straws.

"Nah, it's a man and he looks mad 'bout somethin' so he's prob'ly a madman," Jamie said matter-of-factly, without a touch of irony, calmly picking up the straw and taking his turn.

Kirsty took a breath and looked slowly back over her shoulder, praying it was a figment of Jamie's lively imagination.

The thunder and lightning were retreating towards the sea, but the lull in the rain had only been temporary and now it was being thrown wildly by the wind. So she saw Scott Phillips, through the rain streaming ceaselessly down, only briefly in the lightning flash, his lip curled into a sneering laugh, his knuckles tap-tapping against the glass, before he disappeared.

And on that isolated crooked lane, in that quaint little house on that lonely night, too far away for anyone to hear any screams, came deafening bangs as the back door began to yield.

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: In Always and Forever, Kane and Kirsty first met as children_.


	12. Chapter 12

_When I originally wrote this chapter, we'd FINALLY discovered Kane's Dad's "real" name so I thought I'd do an explanation for him being called Richie._

**chapter 12**

Richard Augustus Phillips.

Richie Phillips never got over the embarrassment of his middle name. It was a long standing family tradition for the eldest son to inherit the name Augustus. Richie's Dad Gus told six-year-old Richie he should just be ------- grateful he got Richard as a first name, smashed his fist into his face, and went down the pub to get blotto. It was also a long standing family tradition to drink hard and answer annoying questions with your fists.

What made it even worse was, soon as he realised how much Richie loathed his middle name, his younger brother took great delight in yelling _O, Augustuuus!_ in a high-pitched voice, preferably when Richie's mates were around to snigger. Didn't matter how many times Richie bashed him for it, they hated each other and Joe wasn't going to miss an opportunity like this!

Things changed though when Joe married Rose. She had a steadying effect on him and, to his father's and Richie's disgust, he got honest work and wasn't interested anymore in the "family business". And it was a long time ago since he'd screeched _O Augustuuus _for the fun of seeing Richie do his block but the damage was already done. Some of Richie's mates had begun nicknaming him Augustus, swiftly changed to Gus when they discovered his fists packed one helluva punch. Gus it was when he met beautiful, volatile Diane, who could pack one helluva punch herself. Their relationship was far removed from Joe and Rose's calm. From the very first moment, it was explosive, exciting, drink-fuelled.

_"Gus sounds like a ------- cat!" Di said. "I prefer Richie."_

So he was Gus to folk who'd known him all his life and Richie to anyone who knew him after he married Diane. It was one of the few things Di got her own way about before he tamed her.

Scott Augustus Phillips.

Richie got a sadistic thrill when he inflicted the hated name on his first born son. Scotty kept quiet about his middle name. Kane would have been astounded to learn he even had one. Like his father and his grandfather before him, there were heaps of things Scotty preferred to keep quiet about.

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"I could nick one from the shop," Kane suggested.

"Nick what?" Scotty asked impatiently, squishing Kane's school clothes into his school bag.

It was a complete mystery why everything was stained in sand. Lucky he'd thought of buying him a cheap new top and shorts from the beach shop so no one got suspicious though he resented having to spend his own cash. He hoped they didn't ask about his kid bro's old trainers, these guys were meant to be seriously rich.

"A pear. Or if I didn't get that I could nick an orange or an apple, no worries." Kane was anxious to help after all Scotty' kindness. He'd just got some new clobber and been told he was going to a kids' party. It was the last thing he'd expected when he'd fronted up to meet him like Scotty had told him to do or he'd dob him in to Dad for wagging school.

Dry bread and cake, chocolate, four small green apples that had fallen round the tree planted behind the Yabbie Creek war memorial, on which he'd sat kicking his heels till Scott showed, nothing had satisfied his hunger. And he was hot and tired as well as hungry. Scotty's news about the party had startled him. His head was full of what there might be to eat and he'd hadn't been paying too much attention.

Scotty's eyes flashed. "Have you listened to a ------- word I said, drongo?"

"_Yeh! _I say I'm Wills Bennett and the pear had to shoot through."

"The au pair, ya ------- dill, and ya've come for the ------- _party_!"

"I say I've come for a party or the pear's gotta go."

_"Are you being deliberately thick?_"

Kane blinked back sooky tears as his brother's voice rose to danger level. He'd been trying his best to remember but he always got mixed up when Scotty or Dad did their block because that inevitably meant another bashing.

Scott fought back the strong urge to shake his kid bro till his teeth rattled. There were heaps of people around and they might interfere. Jeez, though, he deserved their sympathy if only they knew! He'd spent ages thinking this one out. His first big job. His first lucky break.

He'd heard the Bennett family were away on holiday and he'd been looking out for open windows when the shiny silver envelope carelessly dropped on the path caught his eye. Scott had hoped it was a birthday card containing cash and at first he was disappointed to find it was nothing more than a kids party invitation. Then the plan hit him so suddenly that he was almost dizzy with excitement! He read the name again. Alex King. Scotty made it his business to keep his ears close to the ground so he knew exactly who that was. The little American kid. His Mum was dead and his Dad, a wealthy jeweller, spoilt him rotten to make up for it.

They were renting a huge house, once used as a small hotel, in Yabbie Creek for a month to do with his Dad's work but the month was up and Danny King had invited all the local kids of Alex's age to a leaving party for six-year-old Alex. Including Wills. His family had very recently moved to Yabbie Creek and nobody had even seen him yet but they'd certainly heard about him. Mr and Mrs Bennett had been dirt poor till they won the lotto and now they'd decided little Billy Bennett should have an au pair, a private education and be called Wills just like Princess Di's little boy in England. Small for his age, Kane could easily pass for being a year younger and he could do the working class accent, no worries. And imagine all the stuff he'd have the opportunity to nick!  
If only, though, he had the brains Scotty had...

Scott put his arm round Kane's neck, smiling sweetly, the picture of brotherly love. He spoke softly.

"I'm runnin' through it just one more time. Ya rock up with the invite and say ya Wills Bennett and the au pair dropped ya off. Ya get inside and nick whatever ya can. There won't be no second chances. You stuff up...and I'll kill ya."

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"Ya goin' somewhere?" Scott asked smugly, blocking their way out the front door.

His earlier visits to Summer Bay had paid off. He'd been careful to circle the outside of the little seaside town and talk only to newcomers, but people were as helpful as Summer Bay folk had always been. He'd learned so much. Like where Kane worked, what his wife and kid were called, how isolated was the long, winding country lane where the Phillips house stood. How isolated. He looked down at them, grinning.

"Don't think for one second I'm afraid of you. Hurt us and you'll have Kane to answer to," Kirsty replied levelly.

Startling him because she was unafraid. Though she held her small son's hand, frozen to the spot, the rain and wind blowing in through the open door, knowing he was so very much stronger than herself.

It wasn't what he expected. It wasn't how it should be. So his grin grew wider. "Is that right? You want me to _make_ ya scared then? Like what if I was to tell ya ya've got Buckleys of Kane rockin' up? Oh, he ain't dead. He ain't gonna cark it. Maybe. But only if ya very, very good and do what I tell ya."

He waited, gloating, for the power to shift back in his favour. Waited for her to beg. But she didn't.

Her eyes flickered as if she blinked back tears. Her voice trembled but only a fraction. "We had a photo," she said.

"What?"

She had him totally confused. By now he should have slapped her some, maybe thrown the brat around, let her know he meant business. Why hadn't he?

Kirsty remembered Kane's older brother vaguely. She'd seen him only twice, years ago, once when he'd come into the school playground to talk to Kane, the second time from a distance when he was being bundled into a police car. But a picture flashed into her mind. The grinning kid eating the ice popsicle. Before his and Kane's world fell apart.

"A photo of you and Kane, your Mum and Dad. Standing by the window and there were rose bushes in the garden. And I don't know why...I don't know why I'm telling you this."

A single tear, silver in the moonlight, trickled down her cheek. Yet not of fear. Tears of love and concern for her husband and kid. Tears of anger and helplessness. But not fear. Like she _knew_. But that was impossible because nobody knew. Nobody knew Scott had kept the pictures.

Not that there were many. One of himself and Kane when they were very, very young, posed sitting on a table, Scott with his arms wrapped protectively round his baby bro so that he didn't fall back. A school photo, probably the only one his parents ever paid for or kept, taken shortly after he'd started school, his class sitting outside on some hot sunny day and pink petals on the grass near the chick with the long blonde hair that he'd always liked. Mum and Dad's wedding day in the neat, polished registry office, Mum looking stunning, smiling broadly, holding a posy of flowers and her hair piled up high, Dad wearing a suit, and looking proud and smart and handsome.

Because they were adorning the walls of the living room in their cracked, dusty frames, they were the only pictures to escape the shed fire when Mum had thrown photos and her wedding dress into a box, struggling to stay steady with the matches, pausing momentarily to raise the bottle of whiskey to her lips. And even the wedding picture was burnt at one corner, from the day Dad had pulled out the photo and put a lighted cigarette to it. Scotty remembered Mum furiously snatching it from him and putting out the flame before she threw a shoe that caught Dad square on the mouth, in the days before she gave up fighting back. He remembered Kane, maybe three years old, trapped in their crossfire, his eyes wide and terrified, looking to Scott for protection, in the days before Scott gave up protecting. And he remembered well the photo she was talking about.

He had grabbed Kane by the scruff of the neck, almost lifting him, and they had knocked against the television set as they ran, making the picture frame fall face downwards to the floor, and when they'd crept back home, hours later, when Dad was sleeping off the drink, and Mum sat sobbing and wailing, oblivious to all around her, the photo still lay face down, somehow intact despite the chaos surrounding it.

"Look, I told ya, ya won't get hurt if ya good," he said gruffly. "All you haveta do is tell me where he's put the stash."

"The stash...?" Kirsty asked blankly.

"You heard. Come on, come on, I ain't got all night!"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Beside her, Jamie had begun to sob and she squeezed his hand.

Scott's face darkened. He'd been patient long enough.

"Don't play games with me, sweetheart," he warned in the low, menacing voice he always used before he doled out a bashing.

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Kane was just two years older than the American kid, but it might as well have been twenty years. He watched in amazement as Alex threw another hissy fit, hurling the remote control car against the wall and sending the remote flying after it. Jeez, Dad would've really laid into him for that!

But Alex's Dad was pleading with him, promising him a bigger, better car when they got back to the States, which made Alex scream all the more. The chick who'd been hired to care for Alex was busy trying to look after all the other kids, which was a pity, thought Kane, observing like a miniature adult, she never once needed to yell or bribe yet Alex was heaps better behaved when he was with her.

Alex's nanny had thick black hair and olive skin and Scott had said she was Spanish or Italian or Portuguese or something (though she could have been from Mars for all Scotty cared). She hadn't understood Kane's garbled account of apples, pears and oranges, which was hardly surprising, a professor of literature would have had trouble working it out. Unaware of their plan and of Scott watching, figuring she couldn't leave a little kid on his own on the doorstep and that he had an invite anyway she brought him inside.

There was a bouncy castle out in the garden and later a guy was going to come to show them magic tricks and how to tie balloons in the shape of animals, Maria, the chick who might have seen the job advert for a nanny in her local Martian newspaper, had told him in broken English as, picking up on one or two words from Kane's rambling conversation, she concluded he was asking for lemonade, and poured him a long drink of fizzy orange, popping in a fancy cocktail straw.

Of course, Maria didn't know he couldn't be a kid. She really thought he could just play and jump on bouncy castles and watch magicians, and when she'd caught him lifting the covers from the plates and stuffing himself with as much food as he could cram into his mouth, she only scalded in a nice way, jabbering away in her native tongue, but smiling as she waved a finger in front of his face.

Kane ditched the fancy cocktail straw and guzzled back the orange drink, drained the beaker noisily, burped, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He stopped briefly in the doorway to watch with heavy heart, wishing he could stay. Maria and another chick who was helping, had organised two teams and had filled a sack with small, intriguingly wrapped prizes. Everyone, even Alex, was shouting and laughing as they made their way into the grounds.

Kane sighed and closed the door softly behind him. They were kids, not a care in the world. He couldn't hang around playing like kids could.

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The dreams had been long and vivid, every moment of that terrible day etched into his mind forever.

"Kirst?" He whispered into the darkness, for a crazy moment imagining he was at home waking from another nightmare, and anxious that Jamie shouldn't overhear.

And then, slowly, as the thunder echoed, through the storm playing out against the curtainless window, his eyes made out the unfamiliar shapes of the room and he began to remember. His wife and son were in danger, he had to get back to them!

He tried to jump up...but blackness overshadowed him and he put his hand to the excruciating pain and into the blood that matted and tangled and soaked his hair. He _had_ to get back to Kirsty and Jamie, to protect them from Scotty, he _had_ to...

Fighting for breath, tasting blood trickling down his face, Kane could manage only two or three faltering steps, before the world crashed again. He was sure he heard Kirsty and Jamie shouting to him for help before he plunged back into the darkness.


	13. Chapter 13

**chapter 13**

Sunlight streamed in through the tall picture windows and out in the front garden the birds were noisily fluttering wings and twittering as they bathed in the ornamental fountain.

The room was huge. One set of windows looked out on to the front of the building, the others looked out on to the back. It was the only room which had been locked but someone had been dill enough to leave the key in the lock. Like the other upstairs rooms Kane had tried, it had been emptied of furniture, but, unlike them, it looked unused. There was a strong smell of paint from the large old-fashioned white fireplace and a roll of carpet leaned against one corner, waiting patiently to be unfurled and cover the bare floorboards. A few years ago the building had been used as a small hotel and its new owners planned to re-open as such after their present tenants, the Kings, returned to the States. This was earmarked to be the grandest, most expensive room.

The owners hoped the immediate view of the decorative fireplace would give a favourable impression that visitors would always remember, and they had agonised for many hours over patterns and taste and which painting would eventually hang above. They'd have been very disappointed to learn their very first guest didn't even give it a second glance. In fact, their very first guest swore under his breath when he saw the room had nothing in it but a bloody great fireplace. Time was running out! Scotty would kill him if he went back empty handed.

Kane had half turned to leave when he noticed the cupboard, its door left ajar to allow the paint (Jeez, somebody round here was ------- obsessed with white paint!) to dry. He made his way stealthily towards it, freezing and holding his breath when he heard a sudden yell. But it was okay. The yell was quickly followed by laughter and clapping. Just kids playing in the grounds at the back, while he got on with the important stuff.

There was a large, bulging leather rucksack inside the cupboard. It seemed a waste of time checking it out, but Scott always told him never ignore anything, it could get results. Scotty himself had once found fifty bucks hidden inside an old shoe dumped in a gutter near the hell houses' rundown block of shops. There had been blood on the shoe, but, Scott had said when recalling the story, you didn't ask questions when you got a lucky break like that.

Kane deftly undid the straps expecting to find nothing more than travelling clothes, forgotten sun block, maybe a map or, if he was real lucky, some expensive binoculars. Till he pushed back the flap and saw the contents. Scotty was gonna be _stoked!_

Riches! Riches beyond their wildest dreams! Rings and necklaces, bracelets and ear-rings, necklaces and broaches...Sparkling and dazzling and thrilling in a myriad of beautiful colours.

_DIAMONDS!_

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Dani sat high up on the cliffs, her legs dangling above the grey, stormy waters, till a clap of thunder, louder than the rest, suddenly roared through the sky. When the thunder came, she looked down, the sea wind icy cold on her face, at the waves crashing wildly against the rocks.  
She didn't remember climbing here. Or how long it had been since she stood outside the surgery and spoke to the girl with the bedraggled hair and haunted eyes or when she first began crying. But it felt as though the banshee wails of the sea and the wind and the long dead had always been calling out for her to join them.

When the thunder came, she jumped up, barely managing to catch hold of a sharp rock above, gashing her wrist in her haste, and watching helplessly as a steady flow of bright red blood dripped on to the jagged cliffs below. When the thunder came, Dani screamed in terror.

But there was no one to hear.

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"I wanna know where the stash is," Scott repeated. "And seein' as ya kept me waitin' so long ya get to pay a penalty. I want all that beaut money ya won from winnin' that nice little Olympic gold medal as well."

"What money? Don't be stupid, Scott, that went on medical bills, my kidney op, Kane's cancer..."

"Y'know, I don't think I like being called stupid..."

Scotty drew the knife from the inside of his jacket. Despite all the years of being buried, it was still sharp. So very sharp. He lightly traced the blade down Kirsty's face and grinned when she flinched in pain. There was still no fear. Not for herself. But she was afraid for her kid. The kid and Kane. They were her weakness. Teasing, he took the knife down to the height of Jamie, playing the blade through the tips of his hair.

"Don't you touch my son!" Kirsty pushed him back, eyes blazing with anger, standing in front of Jamie to shield him. She needed two hands to push him back, and she fell awkwardly on her ankle but she caught Scott off guard and the knife clattered to the floor.

"You better not hurt my Mum!" In the glow of candlelight Jamie's face contorted in terror as he picked up the knife and pointed the blade.

The same knife, the same words his father had used all those years ago.

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"You did real well," Scott said.

It was rare that Scotty praised him and Kane's imagination ran riot with thoughts of a glittering future career as a crim. He wondered if crims ever nominated each other for an award like folk got nominated for Logies. Maybe Mum and Dad would finally be proud of him then. He pictured himself going up on stage, to rapturous applause from other crims, to collect a cup.

Scotty was rapt. He'd thought of everything. Grilled Kane on what he was to say. Bought him shorts and a T-shirt from the cheap beach shop so nobody wondered why he rocked up to a party in school uniform. It had been worth splashing out. For once in his life Kane hadn't stuffed up, literally strolling out the front door and passing the rucksack to Scott while everyone was busy partying at the back.

Everything had gone according to plan but now Scott had to think carefully about what to do next. The diamond jewellery was red hot and the cops would be on the case the moment the Yank realised it was missing.

Scotty was expert in selling on stolen goods and he knew guys who would readily buy, but he also knew they would cheat on a kid and he'd be lucky if he got even a few lousy dollars. And no way would he ask Dad to help, he'd keep the whole bloody lot! He frowned, deep in thought.

There was only one thing he could do. Hide the fortune till he grew up. _He_ could keep his mouth shut for years if he had to, like he'd always kept his mouth shut about his middle name being Augustus and the drugs Dad dealt and the guys Richie "Gus" Phillips had bashed. But his kid brother was forever jabbering on about stuff. If Kane hadn't looked so much like Richie, Scott would've sworn his folks had picked up the wrong bub. He'd been trying for years to knock the sookiness out of him. Scott knew instinctively when to get out of the way of Dad's drunken rages, but Kane!

Scotty would never forget the day his brother had fronted up to Dad to ask why Mum didn't hit him back anymore! _Jeeee-zus!_ Scott had moved like lightning, locking himself in the kitchen, where he'd listened to the swish of the belt and the screaming and the thudding footsteps above that had made the kitchen lightbulb swing. Just before he fled upstairs and ended up getting thrashed within an inch of his life, Kane had rattled the handle of the kitchen door, pleading with Scott to open up but no way was Scotty going to chance a bashing as well. You looked after yourself in this life, nobody else would. Tough luck, but Scott was keeping those diamonds all to himself and he needed to figure out a way to make sure Kane was too damn scared to ever breathe a word about them to anyone.

There was the smell of smoke in the air as they got near home. That was nothing new. It could have been someone burning garden cuttings though it was more likely to be a burnt out, stolen car or some empty building set alight for kicks. And then they turned the corner to their own house and in the fading evening light saw the yellow flames leaping up from the bundle of clothes and letters lying in their driveway.

"Jeez, not another bloody fire!" Scotty said. A touch impatiently at first. It had happened often enough before. Yet another drunken fight, shouting and screaming, something broken or set ablaze. Scary, but you got used to it. You had to.

And then they heard Mum's screams and Dad's drunken laughter. The screams more bloodcurdling, the laughter more manic than anything they'd ever heard before.

Kane swung round to his older brother, the firelight glowing on their faces. "He'll kill her for sure this time!"

"I gotta hide the stash!" Scotty yelled back.

So.

In a moment it was decided. Which brother would pick up the knife.

In that moment when Scott clutched the bag to his chest and stayed where he was and Kane ran inside.


	14. Chapter 14

**chapter 14**

Scott dropped the rusty tin bucket and stamped out the dying embers of the fire. Sometimes he wondered if the guys who had originally built their home over a century ago had envisaged a time when two alkos with a penchant for lighting fires would live here and had put the standpipe at the side of the house for that very reason.

He stood a while, vaguely listening to the screaming voices from inside the family home, more in annoyance than alarm. Round the hell houses fights like this were commonplace and no one dreamed of interfering. And Scott was more concerned about the diamonds anyway. Putting out the fire had been a delaying tactic to give himself time to think. He didn't particularly care if what looked like Mum's clobber strewn on the path burnt or if it didn't burn. What he _did_ care about was the diamonds.

Needing to make a spur of the moment decision, he'd stored the rucksack temporarily in the garden shed and out here he could keep an eye on the garden shed. It wasn't much of a hiding place, its roof burnt out from the day Mum had torched her wedding dress and the photos, but it was the best he was able to come up with for now. He needed to think about exactly _where_ he was going to hide the stash and exactly _how_ he was going to make sure Kane kept his mouth zipped. For years, if need be.

He looked up, startled, as from the back of the house an unearthly cry from Kane pierced the air. But it only shook him up briefly. Maybe Dad had laid into his younger brother again. The drongo never would learn to stay outta his way. Anyway, Scott had other things on his mind, like what if he...

An eerie wailing noise suddenly rose high into the night, loud and unceasing, carried out to the darkening sea. And as night shrouded that lonely house of secrets even Scotty Phillips began shivering.

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Pale and shaky, Jade sat up in the hospital bed, Rhys and Shelley sitting at either side. She'd never been so scared in her life as she was now. She shuddered involuntarily as the consultant, accompanied by a nurse, walked in carrying her medical file and Rhys reached across to squeeze her hand reassuringly. Shelley gently stroked her hair like she used to when Jade was crook when she was small. It was a comforting, motherly gesture that made Jade long to be small again. To never know these two people sitting here had no blood ties with her. In the car earlier, she'd told them.

She was nothing to them. They had three daughters of their own, Kirsty, Dani and Laura, so why should they care? Shelley cried then and put her arm round her shoulders. Rhys said in a choked, heartbroken voice, keeping his gaze steadily on the road as they sped through the night, "You're our daughter too, sweetheart. Nothing can ever change that."

But that only made it worse, made her feel like she'd been cold and unfeeling. They'd been worried about Kirsty and worried now too because Dani was late but when Jade had got up for a glass of water Shelley had remarked she didn't look too good and Rhys asked if she felt crook. It must have been something in their voices.  
Suddenly she found herself telling them everything she'd kept to herself for so long. About the constant dizzy spells, the frequent nausea and the breathlessness, of how terrified she was that she too might have inherited the fatal heart condition that had killed so many of the de Groot family when they were young, even the twin brother of Laura de Groot's grandmother on the eve of their twenty-fifth birthday. They were so concerned, these two people who were really only strangers to her. They asked Jenny and Mike Turner, who had holidayed frequently at the caravan park since the Sutherlands days and who had become good friends, if they'd temporarily take charge of the site, while they took Jade to be checked out at the hospital.

"Medicine can do marvellous things these days," Shelley said.

"But it will cost..." Jade began.

"We don't care how much it costs if it gets you better," Rhys said.

The consultant, a kindly-looking man with thinning, silvery hair, pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses and through watery blue eyes glanced round at all three.

"Mrs Miller, I have the result of your tests. Would you prefer to be alone?"

Jade held tightly on to Rhys and Shelley's hands. Strangers. Strangers who had loved her since the day she was born.

"No," she said. "I'd like my...my..._Mum and Dad_ to stay."

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Afterwards Colleen would recollect the tiniest detail that she barely noticed then. The old familiar carriage clock ticking steadily on and the sudden flurry of rain hitting the window as the wind changed direction. The smell of scones that she'd baked that morning and the tea-towel hung crookedly over the top of the cupboard door. The brief icy chill creeping in from some secret gap and the hairline crack in the last of the four blue-willow-patterned porcelain cups that all neatly faced the same way on the hooks of their little wooden shelf.

"Colleen, I have to go back," Ron Wilson said. But still he held both her hands in his own and looked into her eyes a little while longer.

Through the pouring rain they heard the Sutherlands car pulling out on to the road and the shouts of good wishes from Jenny and Mike Turner. Colleen's tongue often ran away with her, but her heart was big and she'd been genuinely upset to see Jade looking so crook and to hear the Sutherlands were taking her to hospital.

"Now don't you worry, Rhys and Shelley aren't your Mum and Dad, but I'm sure they'll take good care of you," she said, giving Jade a hug and kissing her cheek. "I know you don't have any family to speak of because you don't know the de Groots and they don't know you, and the Sutherlands aren't your family either, but Rhys and Shelley would be so upset if you died - I mean, not that you're going to, but if you did..."  
It was lucky that Ron and Jenny gently drew her back then. Colleen needed to dab her eyes and blow her nose at the sad thought of Jade dying. She had offered to help in any way she could, and, while their husbands were busy trying to push the Sutherland's car out of deep mud, Shelley and Jenny had thanked her but assured her they'd be fine. Privately Colleen was glad they rejected the offer. She was dreading Rhys and Mike saying they needed her to push the car as well.

Besides, even without electric and with the occasional draught slipping through, the caravan was warm and cosy. The kettle would heat soon enough on the calor gas stove, the scones on the cake stand could quickly be buttered and placed on the willow-pattern plates. She looked at Ron, bewildered.

"I must go," Ron repeated. "I've left Mrs Phillips and Jamie all alone in that isolated house and the storm's much worse. Her husband's still out at sea, her parents have gone to the hospital, now the electric and the phone lines are down. Who else is there to check on them? I'd never forgive myself if I didn't go back."

And then he did something Colleen would always remember. Then he kissed her.

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"Drop the knife, kid!" Scotty said nervously. His nephew was barely tall enough to reach up to his uncle's waist and the blade was pointing directly at Scott's stomach. He didn't dare move in case that startled Jamie into action.

"Noooooo!" Jamie shook his head as he spoke to emphasise his views on the matter. He didn't know what the hell he was gonna do with the knife. But he was sure as hell he wasn't gonna drop it. Even though his hand was all sweaty and his arm was aching.

"You drop that ------- knife or..."

"I ------- won't!" Jamie said.

_"Jamie!" _Kirsty screamed. The pain of her broken ankle was so great that for a second or two she'd been faint. She was shocked and terrified when she opened her eyes to see her small son holding Scott at knifepoint.

Jamie knew what must have upset Mum. Her family were always telling him to say pleases and thank yous and to ask politely before he did stuff. He wondered why Mum should bother about manners at a time like this, but grown-ups thought in strange ways and he was genuinely anxious to uphold the social niceties.

"You don't mind me swearin', do ya?" He asked Scott.

"No-o," Scotty answered warily.

"Thank you," Jamie said politely, though his head was banging with fear. The sweat made the knife feel like it was slipping from his grasp and if it did the madman could pick it up again.  
Scotty scowled. Was this knife-wielding kid having a lend of him? He wasn't used to kids. Strange, whining little creatures who were always demanding attention and whose sole purpose in life seemed to be making adults trip over them.

A new thought struck Jamie. Something Mum had said earlier The photo.

"You look 'bit like my Dad..." he told the madman thoughtfully.


	15. Chapter 15

**chapter 15**

Surprisingly, Scott only ever saw the diamonds twice. The first time was when Kane came out of the party clutching the old rucksack.

Scotty cussed several times and held his younger brother in an armlock while he deftly undid the straps with his free hand, warning him he was in for one helluva bashing if this was all he could manage to nick. Then he gasped and dropped his hold on Kane in shock, so rapt he could hardly speak.

"Okay...now you gotta keep...you gotta keep..." Scott was too stoked even to find the breath to finish his sentence.

"A rabbit...?" Kane suggested hopefully.

There was Buckley's of him getting a cat or dog, Kane knew that. But a couple of kids in his class kept rabbits as pets. He'd heard them say their olds reckoned rabbits didn't need as much looking after as a cat or a dog. So he'd asked Mum yesterday if he could keep a rabbit and she'd told him ---- off, but that hadn't _exactly_ been no. Now they were rich they could afford to buy a rabbit, a hutch and heaps of carrots and lettuce.

Scott stared at him, baffled. He often reckoned the only explanation was Kane must have been dropped on his head some time when he was a bub. He chose to ignore the strange answer. He had more important things than rabbits on his mind. His eyes narrowed, his voice was low and menacing.

"You gotta keep your ------- mouth shut about this or you're dead."

Kane froze. Sometimes Scotty looked and sounded and acted so much like Dad it was almost like seeing his father in miniature. It hadn't always been that way. When they were younger, his older brother would look out for him, warning him if it wasn't safe to go home because the olds were bluing again, getting him out of the way if Dad was smashing up the furniture, saving him a share if they'd been out nicking lollies from Nosey Parker's store. Kane didn't know how or when or why things changed, only that they had. And Scotty's punches could hurt like hell.

"Jeez, I won't tell no one 'bout the diamonds, Scott, dead set!"

"Shut it!" Scott swiped him across the ear, but lightly, and out of habit. Secretly he was pleased with his kid brother. "Keep ya voice down, drongo! This ain't kids stuff no more. You're in the big league now, and if the ------- cops ever catch up with ya, ya'll get years in the slammer?

Nah, it wasn't kids stuff anymore, like seeing how many people walking below the bridge over the wharf that they could hit with great dollops of spit or emptying all the garbo out of the park garbo bins soon as the park guy had put it all in, Kane thought wistfully and a little proudly. Scott was always telling him get rid of the sookiness and do something really big. Well, he'd done it! You couldn't get bigger than nicking diamonds. But you could. And that night, though neither of them knew it yet, would be the night he did.

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The second time Scott saw the diamonds was when they buried them, on the edge of the unused field and the graveyard, where the light summer night scent of wild flowers and grass, met with the oppressive, musty damp of the ancient churchyard and its dark, silent graves.

Listening to Kane' scared, heavy breathing beside him, he opened the bag and took one last loving, lingering look at the glorious colours glittering in the moonlight before reluctantly fastening up the rucksack straps for the final time.

Kane looked up then, whether at the sky or the stars or the moon, Scott never knew, but he was snivelling and his teeth were chattering. Scotty felt distinctly uneasy as it suddenly occurred to him that maybe Kane had seen the ghost of Samuel Edmund Coates, rumoured to haunt the graveyard, and said to have even been seen once by Alf Stewart when he was a boy. But then his younger brother gave an extra big sniff, wiped his nose with the back of his hand and looked down at the hole they'd dug and Scott's moment of fear was over. Despite finding his killer instinct, Kane was just being his usual sooky self.

So Scotty only ever saw the diamonds twice. Oh, but he dreamt about them often!

Mostly good dreams, like spending all that beautiful dough, though there was the occasional nightmare of being arrested. Then he would break out in a cold sweat, tossing and turning, wondering if, after all, he should have sold them on when he was young. But they were hot, he was a kid, it would've been far too risky when someone asked the inevitable questions. Incredibly, however, no one ever _did_ ask!

The Kings left for the States the day after the party, the early evening news briefly mentioned the "benevolent millionaire" and showed a blink-and-you'll-miss-it camera shot of father, son and au pair boarding their plane home, the newscaster shuffled the papers on her desk and read a funny little end-of-news item about a thief who'd been quickly arrested because he hadn't been able to resist taking off his mask and smiling broadly for the shop security camera.

At first Scott was on edge, convinced the cops had requested a news black-out because they were just waiting for him to give himself away. But as the weeks and months passed by without the inevitable questions it finally occurred to him that Danny King hadn't reported the theft. And there could only be one reason - the diamonds were already hot! The "benevolent millionaire" must have been a crim!

Which meant Scotty was free to dig up the diamonds soon as he looked old enough to be taken seriously. Except it didn't prove that easy. By the time he was fifteen people had begun to take Scott Augustus Phillips very seriously indeed. _Especially_ the cops!

They'd begun keeping a very close eye on him ever since his twelfth birthday, which Scotty and his mates had celebrated by smashing the large window of the Yabbie Creek liquor store and running off with the display. _High spirits, let's hope he gets off Scotty-free_, Richie said in amusement, though the station cop was unimpressed. The court ruled that Scott, being the youngest by some years, had been influenced by the older kids and let him off with a caution. But after that Scott found he couldn't move without some cop or other breathing down his neck. Richie lost count of the number of times he was called down to the cop station to collect his sons.

Kane was too young to be formally charged, but Scotty's criminal record grew and grew. The night he was jailed for the Shauna Bradley kidnap, the diamond situation reached crisis point. It had been tough enough trying to shake off the cops in Summer Bay, how the hell was he meant to get his hands on the fortune when he was banged up?

Scotty chewed over the options. Asking a mate meant someone else taking a big fat cut. Blackmailing Danny King, even if he knew how to contact him, was far too complicated and dangerous. Taking a chance on digging up the rucksack himself was obviously too risky. But there was an answer. Scotty grinned. Kane owed him big time for dobbing him in over the bashing and Shauna. Soon as he got out his kid bro was gonna be made to cop it sweet.  
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Scotty had told him keep his blood-stained hands inside the jacket in which he carried the knife so no one saw. Kane kept expecting someone to stop him and ask why he had both hands tucked inside the jacket under his arm in that peculiar way, was there something wrong with his hip? He'd even rehearsed an answer. _Yeh_, he'd say. _Yeh, they'd just foiled a bank robbery, one of the robbers had pushed him over, hurting his hip and his bro was taking him to hospital before he bled to death. _That'd make people get out of their way quick smart and Scotty would be heaps impressed!

When they'd stopped at the cafe-bar though, that had been a real problem. He was pretty damn sure the guys he and Scotty were planning to dine with would think it a bit rude of him to sit under the table to eat dinner, but how else was he meant to keep the knife hidden?

It had been a relief when his older brother abruptly changed his mind about dinner anyway. Kane wasn't in the least bit hungry. In fact he didn't think he would ever be able eat again. He felt sick every time he thought of... Jeez, the sooky tears were beginning to fall again and Scotty'd do his block if he saw them!

Kane looked up to blink them back. Between drifting clouds, one by one, the stars were slowly beginning to twinkle and sparkle in a fast darkening sky. He wondered if the little girl with the magic smile was watching the stars too. If she even remembered him.

But, like a breath on the wind, the summer he'd been a kid was long gone now. There was no going back. The moon stared accusingly down like it knew. Like it could see all the blackness inside him. He wiped his nose, shivering at the memories.

Scott threw the rucksack inside the hole, glad to be rid of its heavy weight, and nodded to his brother. The knife and jacket followed the diamonds into their burial place. They kicked over the soil and Kane looked down at his outstretched palms covered in the blood and dirt. He wasn't a kid anymore. After tonight, he could never go back to being a kid again. He was a killer.  
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Kane kept in touch Scott with while he was inside. Scotty never figured out why. The cops had never watched Kane as closely so, in his brother's place, he'd have dug up the diamonds and shot through. Maybe Kane thought he owed him for squealing about the Shauna kidnap or for all those years Scott'd looked out for him when they were kids. Maybe he was petrified Scott was going to dob him in. Whatever, Scott wasn't going to complain. Kane was a source of extra baccy and other goodies that were scarce in the slammer so he put up with him always jabbering on about training to be a sea captain because he wanted him to believe he was going straight when he got out. Well, yeh, in a way he was. Straight to Summer Bay.

His younger brother was waiting for him in the car the day Scott was released. It was a beautiful cloudless summer day, the sun burning relentlessly down, the car seats unbearably hot, the occasional breeze wafting refreshingly in through the open window, riffling through Kane's hair and fluttering his short sleeves. He was tanned from working out in the open, loading boats to pay his way through TAFE, full of smiles, full of plans about them working together. Soon as Scotty felt up to it, Kane said, he'd have a word with his gaffer.

Jeez, it was easy as taking candy from a baby! Scott spent a couple of days taking it easy in the poky little flat Kane had got himself in the backwoods little town. On the third day he suggested he and Kane went for a long drive. They stopped to fill up and in the servo he pulled the gun.

Adrenaline pumped deliciously through Scotty's veins as they yelled at each other through the bursts of gunfire, his face and neck sweating under the hood pulled over his head, the brakes squealing wildly as they made their frantic getaway. The car finally skidded to a halt in the middle of nowhere, the back tyres firing up a hail of small stones, the wildlife screeching in loud protest like some crazy background orchestra.

Scotty was laughing hard. He hadn't enjoyed himself so much in years.

"Why d'ya do it?" Kane shouted furiously. "I told ya soon as I got my life together I was gonna go back for Kirsty! Why d'ya always have to stuff things up for me?"

Scott stopped laughing. He grinned and patted Kane's cheek because he knew how much he hated it. "Cos it's fun, bro. Heaps of fun. And 'cos ya owe me. Big time."

Kane gritted his teeth and stared straight ahead. Remembering.

"Okay, Scott," he said at last, taking a deep breath. "Whadd'ya want?"

"Oh, I think you know."

_Promises. Promises to keep._

"Drive," Scott ordered, grinning.

"Where?"

"Just drive."

Kane pulled back the clutch. He drove on in silence, trying to blank out his brother's voice as Scott gave an over-excited recount of the servo robbery.

"Did ya see the old guy's face? Thought his ------- last moment on earth had arrived when he copped on we had the gun! Whoo-ee, wouldn't have minded pepperin' that place with his blood though! Jeez, we make a ------- good team?

Kane felt sick to the stomach. Images flashed through his mind. Memories he'd hoped were buried for good with the knife and the diamonds. Memories that would never go away. Ghosts of the past that would live and breathe forever behind his closed eyes in the stillness of the night. Always, always returning to haunt him.

At the train station, Scott told him to stop. He got out and leaned lazily on the half open door.

"Now I know ya wouldn't want ya fave bro to get nicked with all that hot cash so I wan'cha to look after the dough real careful for me till I get back. 'Cos that's when I finally get to collect my inheritance. Right, bro?"

He rapped his brother's head with his knuckles, slammed the door behind him and strolled off whistling.

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But things hadn't gone the way Scott intended. The dough meant to finance him while he arranged a buyer for the diamonds went up in smoke in the fire at the Drop-in Centre. Kane stuffed up doing over the Diner. Scotty's attempted drugs snatch at the surgery went drastically wrong. Worse, Kane was allowing the weird chick who could ID them over the servo robbery to wander round Summer Bay like she was out for a bloody Sunday picnic!

After Kane thwarted his plan to silence her, Scotty took off interstate, managing to get himself arrested within hours of his arrival by ramraiding a supermarket and almost killing the assistant manager, who'd been working late alone, and who stood, startled, in the middle of the aisle, holding up two cans of baked beans as though making an offering to the gods, as the car suddenly braked in front of him. Another five years wasted waiting. And the cops got to keep the gun as a souvenir. But it was sweet when he finally got back to the Bay. His drongo of a brother had been too madly in love with the Kirsty Sutho chick to shoot through while he had the chance. So now Kane had a wife and a son. And he owed him.

The knife slipped from his grasp. Jamie couldn't stop it. His sweat-soaked hand hurt bad from holding the handle so tight. Mum tried to snatch it up first but the madman who looked a bit like Dad was quicker.

Jamie felt the ice cold blade rest against his throat.


	16. Chapter 16

Alani, you never read the story before? There are a lot of twists! ;o) Thanks for your nice review.

**chapter 16**

Eleven-year-old Scott Phillips looked towards the most squalid of the hell houses that was home. The small rundown town with the deceptively pretty name of Summerhill wasn't very far from the popular little seaside resort of Summer Bay and its steep, inclining streets boasted breathtaking views of the sea and surrounding countryside, but few, if any, Summer Bay holidaymaker ever took time out to visit.

Over a hundred years ago, when its once beautiful houses were enviously nicknamed "the hill houses", when young couples and families picnicked on the green that was now a large, ugly supermarket and car park, Summerhill was considered a more sedate, genteel place in which to "partake of sea air" than the noisy, crowded Bay, and it was steeped in history - pottery and bones from early Aborigine settlers had even been found close to its rugged beach - but in these more modern times Summerhill was never mentioned in the tourist guidebooks and no police officer was ever foolish enough to patrol the drink and drugs fuelled area alone.

The Phillips' house stood on perhaps the highest points of this ancient site, its nearest neighbours, large detached houses like itself, now silent, empty and neglected. So there was only Scott to listen, frowning in concentration, on that star-studded night that echoed, as it had echoed for thousands of years, with the distant lapping of the sea and gentle whispering of the trees.

The strange wailing that had risen high into the sky and been carried out to sea might have been Mum. Sometimes, after Dad bashed her, she would sit for hours, weeping in a strange, hollow kind of way. And yet this wailing was like nothing he'd ever heard before or would ever hear again, sending icy chills down his spine though the night was bathed in warmth. He stood motionless by the garden shed, listening hard as glass smashed like the ripple of countless pebbles hitting the earth and some heavy object fell in a single dull thud. Then all was abruptly quiet.

Scotty let out a slow breath. Maybe it was over. Maybe Dad had laid into Mum again and was about to lay into Kane. Maybe it was one of those brief, terrified silences that sometimes preceded Dad bashing someone. He stared at the kitchen window, where a mysterious faint yellow glow was silently flashing like a ghostly lantern.

And then the moon suddenly rose high over his squalid home, casting grey shadowy light into a garden strewn with empty bottles and discarded food wrappings. Cockroaches swarmed hungrily around the toppled garbo bin, bloated black bodies glistening, some scurrying over his feet in their eagerness to feast. Scotty barely noticed them. He listened closely, straining his ears, but unprepared for the sound that finally broke the silence.

Laughter crashed into the stillness of the calm summer night.

Hearty laughter, like Dad had just been told some beaut joke, like he was wiping his eyes, like he was struggling to catch his breath but every time he did he remembered the punchline and laughed all over again. Scotty looked at the garden shed, reluctant to leave the diamonds for even a second. But he had to _know_. He had to find out what secrets this night was keeping.

He crept to the kitchen window, soundlessly dragging out of the way the empty orange crate that Kane used as a step-ladder to climb into the house when Dad locked him out. Scott was tall enough not to need anything to stand on yet small enough to quickly bob his head back down out of sight if need be. Stretching slightly, he pressed his elbows down on the cold, rough window ledge and, cupping his eyes with his hands, peered inside.

In the flash of light Kane briefly saw his father's grinning face, his gaze cold and unblinking, glowing red in the yellow flame of the cigarette lighter. Then darkness. And then the yellow flame illuminating the grinning devil-face once more. Now the darkness sweeping back like a flood. And, the only sound, the almost imperceptible click of the lighter rapidly flicked on and off, the only light the small fire in Richie Phillips' hand. Light then dark, light then dark, light then dark. On and on.

Till the moon rises high and in the cold new light the shadows stir anew.

The dark heap lying prone on the ground groans softly. Dad kicks him swiftly back into silence. The small, slight figure of Mum, who's been kneeling, sobbing, by the man's side, rises and, trembling, points the kitchen knife towards her husband.

"So now we're even, Di," Richie hisses, the moonlight catching the jagged edges of the broken bottle, and he clicks the lighter once, twice more, and laughs at their weakness.

And so it must begin again, this nightmare. How often it would come back to haunt him. How often he would remember the man with his back to him now rising, hurt and bleeding, his breathing heavy and laboured. How often he would recall his mother's long, high-pitched wail and her hand shaking uncontrollably trying to clasp the knife so very tight, and his father pressing the lighter on and off while lazily, almost casually, finishing off the whiskey with a long gulp from the bottle.

Then another flicker of light, the empty bottle smashes down against the stranger's head, the man falling forward and Mum falling with him as if she too has been felled by some invisible blow, and Dad laughing at Kane forever through the wavering yellow flame.

Till the moon.

Till the slight, white-faced figure rising, trembling, stumbling to her feet. "I'll kill you, _Gus_, I _WILL_ kill you!"

_"Don't call him that! Don't call him that!"_

Because Gus is the name that his father is known by in the dark, crowded bars that simmer with violence and hate, the name the druggies shout when they're frantically thudding fists on a window in the dead of the night, the name Mum spits in hatred, as she spits now, on days when she no longer cares if she lives or dies. If she says _Richie_ like she usually says _Richie_, in that quiet, subdued, anxious-to-please voice, then it's alright, it's alright, though it's never alright but it might mean nobody will die tonight...

If he could _just_ hold on to some normality in this terrifying blood-drenched world of knives and broken bottles and shadows, oh, if he could...

...just...

_ breathe_...

for a _moment_...

The floor is slippy and treacherous, from the stranger's blood, from the grains of broken glass glittering like ice, from the wet, trampled flowers, their fragrant, delicate scent mixing with the smell of stale tobacco and grog and the overpowering, sickly, smoky sweetness of marijuana. His right heel slides, carrying him to the ground, his hand touching liquid, shuddering at the thought it might be blood, his ears hearing nothing but Mum screams, his eyes seeing nothing but the knife falling by him, shining bright in the moon, and Dad raising the broken bottle towards Mum's face, and only Kane, jumping up, and a knife to stop him...

"You better not hurt my Mum!"

Richie Phillips, laughing, sweeps his small son to one side and Diane criss-crosses her arms over her face and ducks and several times Richie slashes the air near both she and Kane, missing purposely to tease...

Behind him, like in the 2.15am zombie movie he once watched, while Dad was out dealing and Mum in one of the trances she went into after Dad beat her, and Scotty upstairs with a bottle of strong cider, the man on the ground tries to lift himself, to speak, to catch hold of Kane's ankle, and, frantic with terror, the little boy spins around, screwing his eyes shut tight, plunging the knife that sinks into the man's shoulder blade, drawing blood, and he slumps forward...

...Like a puppet...

...with broken strings...

.And then silence.


	17. Chapter 17

**chapter 17**

Something icy cold hit Kane's face, shocking him awake. The storm had almost faded now, but rain still hammered against the window and the thunder was still crashing - but, strangely, only inside his own head. He sat up slowly, shivering uncontrollably as freezing water spilled down his face and neck and trickled through his shirt. Searing pain tore through the back of his head and he seemed to be aching in every limb. It was difficult to focus but gradually he became vaguely aware of someone sitting there. Cross-legged on the floor, next to a garbo bag, and nursing a large jug.

"I put ice cubes in the water! Found 'em in the green fridge with the mouldy ------- cheese!" The person cried triumphantly, and then hiccuped loudly. "S'cuse _me!" _Giggling, Melanie put her hand over her mouth like a child.

"Mel...that you...?" He whispered weakly, thinking he knew the voice.

"Jeez, I forgot, you can't see, I can't see..." Melanie managed, on the third attempt, accidentally kicking over a can half full of lager and cursing in the process, to stretch far enough to plug in the lamp that Scott had dumped on the floor when he sold the coffee table for money to buy more grog. "There! Now you tell me. Why the ---- would someone wanna buy a _green_ fridge when the kitchen's _blue?"_

Because the rain had drenched it, her hair wasn't swept across her face like it normally was and the black eye and ugly bruising on her left cheek were clearly visible. Melanie read his expression and turned away, angrily pushing her soaking wet hair back into its usual place. The last thing she wanted from this guy was his sympathy.

"Yeh, well, you don't exactly look a million dollars yourself," she muttered awkwardly.

"Scott did that?" He was out of breath, unable to find the strength to move, and the thunder pounding in his head muffled his hearing. He was fighting desperately to stay conscious.

"Whadd'you reckon, genius? You know, maybe it's easier if I carry this without the gift wrap."

Melanie stood up abruptly, sobering now, but her movements clumsy and awkward, tipping out the contents of the garbo bag. A few crumpled clothes tumbled out with the old leather rucksack, blackened now with years of mud and rain, but, even after all this time, instantly recognisable. The one thing that could save Kirsty and Jamie and he was too weak to stop her.

She had her back to him, shrugging on a faded denim jacket, embroidered flower patterns on its back and a gaping hole in its elbow.

"Mel...don't...don't take the bag..._please..."_ He leaned, exhausted, against the wall, trying to push himself up with the palms of his hands.

"Why not? _My_ conscience is clear. See, in the end, I couldn't leave you for dead like a sicko rapist once left _me_. In the end, I couldn't even do that."

She faltered by the rucksack, debating whether or not she could carry too the pathetically thin sleeping bag that she'd left behind the first time. It was easier if she didn't look at him. But she owed him an explanation. She owed him that much at least. So she spoke without turning around.

"Look, I didn't plan on this, okay? All I wanted was a roof over my head, see Summer Bay, have someone give a damn about me. Maybe Scott didn't turn out how I hoped, but he told me everything. Too much. Even where you both buried the diamonds."

He didn't have the strength anymore to push himself and Melanie was fading in and out of his vision. It was hard even to speak.

"If you know...if you know everything, then you know Scott will kill my wife and kid if he don't get that back! Please, Mel, I don't give a stuff about the dough. All I care about is Kirsty and Jamie. That's all I ever cared about."

"Yeh, yeh,yeh. So why don't'cha just go tell the cops? Scared Scott'll lag about the murder?"

He blanched. The image of the man who'd slumped forward with blood spurting down his back raced through his mind like it had done in every nightmare since he was barely seven years old. He never knew if it was a blessing or not that he never saw the guy's face. In the harrowing dreams, he saw so many different faces. But every dream ended the same. With the corpse slumped forward and the bloodied knife clutched in Kane's shaking hand.

"Like I said, Scott told me everything," Melanie added. She smiled grimly. "Bet your wife and kid would be real proud to know you're a killer."

"They'll never know. How d'ya tell people who love ya, who look up to ya, what ya really are? How d'ya break their hearts like that?"

There was a catch in his voice and her heart lurched but she steeled herself, though tears welled in her eyes, streaking mascara. Early that morning, when the plan had seemed so simple, when Scott had given her the last of the cash to buy groceries, Melanie had carefully applied crumbling make-up from a worn cosmetic bag.

The sun hat had covered lank, greasy hair, the hanky to her eyes had covered the bruising to her cheek, nobody questioned the skinny, waif-like, pretty girl who must have been crying at the grave of some loved one, and who now ran down the curving stone steps that led to the ancient churchyard, carrying a muddy, battered old rucksack on that busy, bright sunny day.

That was when she should have shot through but instead she'd stupidly, stupidly gone back. Back to Scott and the gun and her curiosity about her boyfriend's brother who talked about a wife and kid like he actually cared. But no man ever cared, not even her father. Men made you cry, beat up on you, left you crumpled inside and a little tougher on the outside. The really sick ones, they raped you and left you for dead. Because guys used you, abused you, took what they wanted. That was what guys did. Well, Melanie was finally going to take something back. She sniffed, pretended to sweep back her hair, wiped away tears, managed to stem their flow.

"Yeh, well, Scott told me what you really are. The lowest of the low - a ------- rapist! And you wanna know what I saw today? A chick who was gonna kill herself because she'd been raped. Oh, she didn't _tell_ me she was gonna but she was gonna do it alright. I could see it in her eyes."

"You didn't try to stop her?"

Melanie swung round in anger. "Why should I? She'd made her choice. Maybe she couldn't live with rape any longer. Well, I know what that's like. I know what it's like to have some sicko creep out the woodwork thinking he can buy you for the price of a meal, a coffee and a smoke, and when you tell him he can't..." She drew a deep breath, shuddering. "I've been there myself. OD'd three times. I'm not so stupid now. I don't trust guys anymore."

But it had been a mistake to turn around. Their eyes locked. Melanie, who'd sworn never to trust any guy ever again, strangely she both hated him and trusted him. Not completely. Not totally. Just enough to have doubts.

She glanced at the rucksack. She could pick it up, leave now. He was too weak to stop her. She need never again doss down under railway bridges, gathered round a fire with the other derros, drinking cheap wine just to stay warm and doing smack just to forget. Once the diamonds were sold on, she could get herself into rehab, get her life sorted, buy herself a place of her own. She could have anything. Anything she ever wanted. And yet she couldn't.

She knew she should never have come back, but she also knew she'd had to. Because that pain was in him too. Deep as the needle marks her long sleeves always covered. Oh, Scott had laughed, bragging when he told her the stories, but even he couldn't hide it. Glimpses of childhoods as harrowing as her own.

"Okay. Okay," she said at last. "But not for you. Not for no ------- rapist b-----d. For your wife and kid."

She'd help him get the fortune back to Scott and then she would shoot through. And maybe she would try yet again in some new place to go cold turkey, stay clean, even hold down a job.

Because the fortune wasn't the only reason she'd stayed with Scott but no one would ever know. No one would ever know the real reason she had had to see Summer Bay because she would never visit Summer Bay again. Except in dreams. And Melanie would keep her secrets.

Oh, so many, many secrets...

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Dani took several deep breaths, gazing down in terror at the storm-tossed swirling grey sea. No one was ever going to find her. She looked back at the cliff-top path she barely remembered walking along, shocked now by how narrow it was.

Signposts at the bottom of the cliffs, signposts that she'd ignored, warned ramblers of frequent crumbling rocks, to only attempt walking in good weather and _never_ to stray off the paths marked by the yellow arrows. Every single rule she'd deliberately broken.

Slowly, carefully, she pushed her bloodied hand firmly down on the rock and twisted herself around, gulping back a scream as her heel slipped and sent several small stones flying into the water. For a moment she closed her eyes, clinging to the forlorn hope that this was some terrible nightmare and she would wake in the safety of her own bedroom, that she was shivering only because Mark had claimed all the bedcovers again.

And she would giggle when she pulled the duvet back to her side because the sudden cold always made him give a particularly loud snore that never failed to wake him and his breath would be warm as they cuddled up together, snug in each other's arms. She screwed her eyes shut tighter, clenching her teeth, willing for it to be so. Yet knowing it couldn't be. Because even snuggling up together was something they hadn't done for a long, long time now.

He tried to understand, tried not to let the hurt show at her rejection, made some joke, with a catch in his throat, about never having kids till they were old and grey. All she could tell him was give her time. She forced herself to open her eyes and look down again at the sea. And so it would end here in Summer Bay. Where all the pain began. She knew they would blame Kane Phillips.


	18. Chapter 18

**chapter 18 **

Kirsty stared helplessly as Scott calmly pressed his hand down on Jamie's head and held the knife's sharp blade dangerously close to the little boy's throat. How could Kane's brother be so evil? He and Kane had grown up together, known together the misery of a violent, alcoholic father. They should have grown up close, not with this hatred.

"Don't...don't hurt my son, Scott," she said, her voice a choked, tearful whisper.

Scotty grinned, beginning to enjoy himself. Now_ this _sort of situation he could handle! Not reminders of a long ago past when, too young to know any better, he'd actually been sooky enough to risk a bashing himself just to get Kane out of the way of the oldies' blues. Or the time when he'd lapsed for a few stupid seconds and pulled the only remaining photos out of their cracked, dusty frames.

Why he'd done that, he'd never know. It had been during his very first stint in jail, not long after Ma died of cirrhosis of the liver, and his first long weekend out on parole. It had taken him fourteen or fifteen hours to reach home, hitching a couple of lifts, travelling ticketless on a short-distance train, and sometimes walking, but he'd gone home because there was nowhere else to go.

But home was unnaturally quiet. Several times he shouted and loudly rattled the old-fashioned brass door knocker of a fiercely growling lion's face, imagining no one answered because Dad was off his face with the grog again and Kane was hiding out somewhere. Eventually he discovered the door was, in fact, unlocked and, with considerable effort, he shoved it open with his shoulder.

Home was so decisively, so emphatically empty that the silence screamed at him. Downstairs in the cold, deserted house, with final demand bills tightly jamming the door, the only remaining furniture among scattered boxes, drops of blood and assorted debris was in the kitchen. It looked like there'd been a fight, Scott thought, and Dad had scarpered, no doubt dumping Kane on Auntie Rose in Yabbie Creek, like Richie Phillips, now an old, shambling alcoholic wreck and not so able to handle himself in fights, often did when he had to lie low for a little while. Two small, broken chairs and a badly-scraped table, obviously of no use to anyone, were all the furniture that was left.

Upstairs, despite the havoc of someone having packed very quickly, the house was slightly better off furniture wise, but the upstairs rooms stank heavily of stale air and sweat, reminding Scotty too much of the slammer. Except for the boxroom, where the window that never shut to properly had at least allowed a little air to circulate. And so he'd chosen to crash there, in the tiny room that Kane would often hide out in when they were kids and Scotty had threatened to kill him yet again.

He slept restlessly, tossing and turning in confusing dreams, on the old kid size sofa bed with its cartoon-koala-bears pattern, his long legs dangling over the end, and woke up aching, angry and bitter. Next day, without knowing why, he pulled the last remaining photos out of their frames and packed them in the small, battered hold-all he'd brought with him from the prison.

Then, without bothering to call at Aunt Rose's to terrorize the old lady and catch up with Kane (officialdom deemed Kane too young to visit prison on his own, and Dad and Auntie Rose never bothered to fill in the prison visitor forms Scott sent) he shot through to Yabbie Creek, got high, got smashed, picked up a chick, picked a fight with her boyfriend, and earned himself an extra month in the slammer but, hell, it had been worth it.

"By the way, did Kane ever tell ya he killed a guy?"

He was rewarded by the shocked look on her face. Under his hand the kid flinched. This was _fun_.

"Nah, thought not," he continued chattily, ruffling Jamie's hair like a proud uncle. "Let me see, he'd'a been...whooo, I reckon...oh, 'bout seven years old. Funny enough, couple of days after Dad killed a guy too. See, the killer instinct, all us Phillips got it. Can't help ourselves. This anklebiter now, wouldn't be at all surprised if he kills someone before his next birthday."

"I d-don't believe you," Kirsty stammered.

"We-ell, you could be right, he might decide to wait till he's growed a little bit more."

"Kane would never kill anyone."

Scotty slapped his forehead. "Ah! He never told ya? Me and my big mouth!"

"And I...I don't believe you would either."

There it was again. That flash of fearlessness in her eyes. What was it with this chick? She spooked him and Scott Augustus Phillips was not easily spooked.

"Get The Stash, Darlin', Or I Take The Kid? he said, through clenched teeth.

"I told you, I..."

For some time now the roaring sea and howling wind and rain had drowned out the lonely sound of the solitary car making its way along the narrow coastal path. So the car headlights that suddenly swept over them took all three by surprise.

Scott turned and started, looking like he'd seen a ghost. Jamie blinked at the sight of his teacher. Kirsty dared breathe again as through the sheets of rain and narrow beams of light she saw Ron Wilson sitting behind the wheel of the car...and the small figure that had taken advantage of Scott's momentary distraction to tear past!

Jamie paused only briefly at the opening of the short cut to the popular cliff-top walk, unwittingly standing in the same spot where Dani had earlier stood with her bitter memories.

"I _need_ my Dad!" He yelled, by way of explanation to Mum, Mr Wilson and the madman.

Kirsty made to follow her son, forgetting about her badly broken ankle till it suddenly crunched beneath her and she crumpled to the ground, watching helplessly, trying to drag herself up, as Scott raced through the opening after his nephew.

Dad _always_ knew how to put things right! Jamie was sure that if he stood high on the cliffs and waved, Dad would be able to see him from his ship. At this very moment, he was prob'ly standing on deck with binoculars, looking out for pirates' buried treasure or maybe even pirates themselves, who'd be brandishing swords and wearing the very latest in eye-patches, which they'd have got from Diagon Alley where Harry Potter bought all the stuff he needed for being a wizard.

Mum and Dad often used the short cut to take Jamie down to the beach, or on to the path that led to the safe, yellow-arrowed, breathtakingly beautiful cliff-top walk, but he'd never before been here by himself, and he'd certainly never before turned right, as he did now, running towards the grey, forbidding cliffs where normally only seagulls ever ventured and that towered high into the sky like cold, unfriendly giants. But that rain-drenched evening not even a single gull was to be seen swooping and circling in those distant, dizzying heights.

Majestic and silent, the cliffs waited only for the tiny, shivering figure who was making his way closer towards them.

Jamie stumbled and tried hard not to cry. It was too dark to see properly and underfoot was soaking wet and slippy. Here and there a few thick, hardy plants had managed to shoot up in small patches of soil between the rocks and Jamie used them to pull himself up, higher and higher, along the narrow, twisting, turning trails that led higher. His teeth were chattering with cold and fear and below him the sea was roaring furiously while above the powerful wind tried its hardest to blow him back. But he pressed on. If he could only get to the top of the cliffs where his Dad could see him from his ship, it'd all be okay again.

Dad would make the madman and the knife and all Jamie's terror go away like Dad could always chase away Jamie's bad dreams. And then Dad would kiss Mum better and it would be like it had always been, with Mum and Dad playing last kiss and jumping in puddles and snatching up handfuls of petals to throw at each other. If he could _only_ get to the very top of the cliffs! _Dad, Dad, Dad, _he chanted over and over like a mantra, each small footstep carrying him further and further upwards into the dark unknown.

Kirsty heard the car door slam shut as she tried in vain to put her weight on her ankle and she remembered thankfully that there was still a faint glimmer of hope. Ron Wilson was there. The only one who could help them now.

"Mr Wilson...Ron...you've got to stop him..."

Ron stooped for a fleeting second, lightly touching her shoulder.

"I will, Mrs Phillips. I promise you," he said, in his quiet, certain, determined way, before he too followed Scott and Jamie to the cliffs, leaving Kirsty all alone on the windswept deserted lane, with tears and rain stinging her eyes.

Usually so right about people, she'd been so wrong about Scott Phillips not being capable of killing anyone. By the look on his face just before he tore after Jamie she knew he meant to let nothing and no one get in his way. She could only pray desperately that Ron Wilson would reach her small son first.


	19. Chapter 19

**chapter 19**

The moment Kane plunged the knife was the moment Scott thought it high time he ducked back down out of sight. Except he wasn't exactly concentrating now. Instead of creeping softly away, never to be discovered, he tripped noisily over the empty wooden crate, falling against the wall and badly scraping a wrist and shin as he put out his hands to stop himself, yelling a string of colourful and imaginative swear words that were enough to make a trooper blush.

"What the ---- is ------- going on? Who the ------- hell is out there?" Richie Phillips sounded like he too had joined the campaign to embarrass troopers as he ran outside and, finding Scott, threw him roughly and unceremoniously into the house.

"Dad..." Scott scrambled up quickly, before his father had a chance to lay into him.

Unlike Kane, he was too sturdy now for Richie to push around as much as he used to, but it was never wise to take chances and Scotty lived on his wits. Using other people to his advantage could often save him from a bashing and he was thinking fast as he took in the scene around him. Mum had sunk defeatedly down into one of the little wooden chairs next to the kitchen table, staring somewhere far away, hands clasped primly on her lap, like some old-fashioned Sunday School teacher awaiting her pupils. Kane stood exactly as Scott had seen him last, white-faced, clutching the knife, staring down at the dark pool of blood on the crisp white shirt of the man he'd just stabbed, trembling uncontrollably, and his breath coming in short, shivering, hurried gasps.

Scott spoke hurriedly, anxious to keep Richie onside. "We gotta get rid of _him_, Dad. We don't want no cops round here lookin' for _dead bodies!"_

Richie stopped in his tracks and grinned slowly at his eldest boy. The only one in the family with any sense. He drew a packet of smokes from his pocket, lit up a ciggie and inhaled.

"Ain't that right? Can't have dead bodies clutterin' up the place! Now where _are_ we gonna bury him, Di? Any ideas?" He smiled mockingly and tapped two fingers on the kitchen table.

The same kitchen table that he'd gathered the Phillips family round two nights ago to tell them he'd killed a man in a fight in a public bar with dozens of witnesses. But, funnily enough, no one saw _anything_, or so they'd _said_, Richie added, tilting back his chair and throwing back his head in laughter.

He brought the chair crashing back down to look round at their faces. In his wife's eyes was bitter hatred but, as always since he'd begun beating the defiance out of her, she was too afraid to answer. Scott gazed at him, dumbstruck with hero worship, his mouth half open in awe. It was Scotty's ambition to grow up to be as feared as his father and he was starting well, there wasn't a kid in the neighbourhood didn't quake in his shoes when Scotty Phillips was around. But, Jeez, as for his useless other son...!

Kane was shaking, trying to pretend he wasn't, and blinking back the tears. His youngest kid, who needed to have all that sookiness knocked right out of him. Richie brought his face close to Kane's.

"And ya wanna know why nobody saw nothin, son? 'Cos I'm the devil and no one can hurt the devil. But _I _can hurt _them_ whenever, however I want." Smiling, he pushed Kane's fingers back and his small son gulped in pain, knowing he couldn't cry because if he cried Dad would bash him for being like a girl.

"Cos...awww...your boyfriend's gone and got himself killed, Di. Die, die, die, say bye, bye, bye," Richie said now, but the words were lost on his wife, who still stared straight ahead, still awaiting her invisible class.

It was never half as much fun when she went into one of her trances. Acting like a fruitcake, Scotty called it, and Diane Phillips could stay motionless like that for hours, seeing and hearing some faraway world that existed only in her own fragile mind. Pumped full of grog, just two days after killing a man with an iron-hard fist, Richie needed something else to make him laugh as it had earlier made him roar with laughter to see his small son staring in terror into the flickering yellow flame of the cigarette lighter, knowing the kid was remembering the devil speech. He swung Kane around, his fist aimed at the little boy's face.

"Can't say I'm not glad he's gone, but ya gotta pay for killin' him _here_!"

The bloodied knife fell to the floor with a resounding clang. The child's eyes widened in terror. Richie grinned in satisfaction, ready to aim a blow.

But Scott was worried about the diamonds. It was like having kids to fret over. They were out there, cold, alone and unloved in that burnt-out garden shed, where anyone could stroll in and find them. He wanted them somewhere safe till he could collect them again and he wanted them somewhere safe _now_. He needed Richie Phillips out of the way. A.S.A.P.

"We gotta get rid of that guy, Dad, before the cops show lookin' for him. Maybe ya should get the truck," he said, impatient, but sounding matey, watching his father, and in particular his father's clenched fist, warily.

Richie turned, though his fist still hovered in Kane's direction, and looked at Scotty, impressed. His eldest boy did the Phillips family proud.

"Throw him in, dump him somewhere," Scott prompted, swallowing with relief as Richie obligingly snatched the car keys up from the table. It was living very, very dangerously, telling Richard Augustus Phillips what he could and couldn't do, no matter how sweetly you said it.

Proud though he was of his eldest son, Richie believed in keeping people in their place. Couldn't have Scotty thinking he'd got one over on his old Dad. He wrapped his arm around Scott's neck and poked the bunch of keys into his cheek, cruelly aiming for the bad tooth Scott had lately been complaining about, but, luckily for Scotty, getting the wrong side.

"Go open the gates, smartass," he said.

"No worries, Dad!"

Scotty ran thankfully into the arms of the warm moonlit night, while Kane pressed himself against the wall, hoping to be forgotten about, watching breathlessly as his father pulled the body through splinters of glass, streaked, smeared blood and flattened flowers towards the door, while his mother sat immobile, staring into space, lifeless and pale as a China doll. Richie paused, panting, and caught his eye.

"You're a murderer now, boy!" He said. "Ain't no gettin' away from the fact."

To Kane's terror, the face-down corpse suddenly seemed to flex its hand, as if it had heard his father's words and, sensing its killer was still in the room, was seeking him out. But he realised it was his imagination. If you looked at a door handle long enough it would move, if you stared hard enough at a black dot it would begin to crawl as though it were a tiny insect. He couldn't afford to let his imagination run away with him anymore, that was what little kids did. And he had to be...much, much more than a seven-year-old kid now. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to look again, to be _certain _the corpse wasn't moving on its own. To his enormous relief, it was still.

Grunting with exertion, Richie gave a final mighty tug and heaved the body out the door. Finally, finally out of Kane's sight! No one but the Phillips family would ever know his dark secret and they must never tell...

Jeez, already he was thinking like a murderer! Beads of sweat formed on the little boy's forehead. He listened carefully, burning with guilt, as the giant wrought iron front gates, that had gleamed proudly in a distant time when a well-to-do merchant and his bride travelled home in a carriage pulled by sleek, plumed horses, creaked rustily open, weary with age. The engine of the truck revved up close by. Its wheels crunched on the gravel and gradually began to fade. Taking away his victim. At last Kane breathed.

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Jamie kept looking down at the sea, hoping to see his Dad's ship but there were still no ships out there on that restless water.

The rain was lighter now, the storm sweeping back out towards the ocean, the black clouds being blown on by the wind, even a twinkling star or two beginning to dot the sky. Night was falling fast. It was becoming hard to make out anything at all except for the grey waves crashing wildly against the rocks. And he was freezing and alone and scared. Mum and Dad had always been there whenever he was scared before.

He thought suddenly that singing Mum and Dad's favourite song might make him feel better, the song Mum had taped specially for Dad and that they had all happily danced to before the madman came along. A small, wavering voice piped breathlessly into the cold night air.

"I'm up on the roof, I'm just a-killin' time...I'm up on...your car drive by..."

It was hard to remember the words when you were concentrating hard on trying not to slip and fall down into the icy sea..

"Hey, rock'n'roll is mine...Uh-oh, oh-oh..."

The sob in Jamie's throat made it sound like he was constipated. He gave up on the song and looked down at the swirling sea. Still no sign of Dad. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to come up here after all. Maybe he'd never, ever be found on the cliffs and would have to live out here alone forever. He'd have to make friends with the gulls and eat worms and raw fish and learn to talk gull language. And they weren't going to be very impressed when he told them he couldn't fly. And that he didn't really LIKE worms or raw fish.

Tears filled his eyes as he looked upwards at the vast, lonely cliffside. Then, for a brief moment in the moonlight, he thought he saw something. No, some_one_! A person! Maybe it was a ghost or a pirate or another madman ready to terrorize him again with a knife to his throat. He watched, shivering, his heart beating so fast Jamie felt it was going to explode.

Then the moon shone on the person's face. And overwhelming relief flooded through him. It was going to be okay after all! He knew who it was...

"Anniedani!" He screamed, waving frantically, hoping that she could hear him through the wild roaring of the wind and the sea. _"Anniedani, Anniedani!"_

She was quite a way away, but he was sure she'd heard him. She looked around. And then she deliberately turned and walked away.

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"Muuum...?"

She said nothing.

When he was older he pieced the mystery together. Diane Phillips had been having an affair. Whether she ever intended to come back for Kane and Scott, he'd never know, but, under cover of darkness, she had packed her case - the letters and clothes burning away on the driveway - till she was sprung by Richie, who no doubt had had his suspicions for a long time and had just been waiting his chance.

But when he was seven years old all he knew was that a nice, kind man had brought Mum flowers, maybe because she'd been crook, and Dad, as usual, had spoilt everything. Just like the time, two years ago, he spoilt everything when, not long after Dad's brother Uncle Joe was killed in the car crash, Auntie Rose took Mum, Kane and Scotty to catch a movie in Yabbie Creek.

They'd stuffed themselves with popcorn and choc ices and Auntie Rose had given him and Scotty five dollars each to choose whatever they wanted from the new toy superstore. Mum had smiled heaps that day and he and Scott had been a bit hyper when they got home, each carrying one of the cool new electronic hand held games, Scotty with alien killers and Kane with battleships, talking nineteen to the dozen and pushing each other round but in the matey kind of way that happened with them once in a while.

But they all stopped when they saw Dad. He was meant to be out helping a mate sell off crates of wine nicked off a ship's cargo, but instead there he stood, his tall shadow cast ominously before them in the pale late afternoon light, arms folded, watching.

"Bumped into Frank Rimmer down the pub," he said conversationally. "Told me how he saw y'all in Yabbie Creek. Said ya was all too far away to speak to else he'd have told Rose how sorry he was to hear about Joe's death. Said it was real nice though to see families stay in touch like that. Real nice."

Di Phillips turned deathly white. "Don't be mad, Richie, please, only I couldn't ask you, Rose phoned after you'd left, and...well, Kaney and Scotty, they never get to have much..."

"Who says I'm mad?" Richie asked, smiling sweetly. "Just because I don't like the b-t-h who was driving the car that killed my bro don't mean my kids can't have nothin' from her. Let me see what you got there then, kids?"

He held out his hand and, following Scott's reluctant lead, Kane handed over the battleships game with heavy heart. And they watched as Richie calmly, still smiling, threw the games down and crushed them with his heel, several times, to make sure they were thoroughly, irretrievably broken.

Then he slapped his wife hard and threw her back across the room. Kane angrily made to jump to her defence but Scotty pulled him back, hissing, "You drongo, whadd'ya think ya gonna do? He'll kill you as well!"

And then he remembered that was his sooky side, the side he had to work hard to get rid of. So they left Mum to it and spent the evening throwing small, sharp stones at any kid unlucky enough to pass under the bridge over the wharf, returning home to find Mum alone, curled up and bruised and weeping, but still breathing, and Scotty asked her what was for supper.

"Mum...?" Kane said again.

He began making his way slowly towards her, sideways like a crab, his back never leaving the wall because somehow the wall protected him. And because he didn't want to look down at the floor. Not at the broken glass and trampled flowers and streaks of his victim's blood.

_Oh, Jeez, say something please...don't sit there staring, jump up, yell at me, hug me..._

"I didn't mean to kill him, ya know, only he was kinda like Billy-Bob, ya know the zombie who was a bit of a dork, only it was 'cos he was actually an alien and so, ya know, he could take poison and not cark it and...uh...I don't mean I killed him _'cos_ he looked like Billy-Bob 'cos he didn't, least I don't think he did, and anyways I _liked_ Billy-Bob, he was funny, and I wouldn't have killed him even if he _had_ looked like Billy-Bob but I didn't kill him 'cos he _didn't _look like Billy-Bob, that's _if_ he didn't look like Billy-Bob..."

Oh, hell, why couldn't he stop rambling? But he knew why. He always rambled like this when he was scared and he was real scared right now. His head was banging. Bile rose up in his throat. A sound crashed in his ears like the waves and, over and over, he was icily cold and then burning hot, and sooo tired...

_Will ya please, please stop staring into space, will ya tell me what to do? 'Cos I just killed a guy and I need my Mum and I don't know what to do..._


	20. Chapter 20

**chapter 20**

Dani listened again. It was probably only the sea sweeping to the shore. Or the cawing of a seagull in some sheltered place on the rocks, spreading wet, ruffled wings and shaking off droplets of cold rain. Or perhaps it was the wind, stealing through nooks and crannies of the cliffs that only the restless wind could find.

Anything out here could sound like a solitary voice. When the tears had blinded her, the wailing wind had sounded like a thousand voices.

Carefully, she examined her injured wrist, wincing in pain. In her handbag was a half-opened packet of paper hankies and Dani fished them out and dabbed gingerly at the wound. The rain was lighter now, though it still fell steadily, and the paper tissues quickly became sodden, but at least the water helped wash away the blood and she was able to see the damage and that it wasn't as bad as she'd first thought. Just a large, ugly gash, though it hurt heaps where she'd bruised the base of her thumb.

She sucked in a breath as, in pressing down to stem the flow of blood, she accidentally caught the bruising. And then the harrowing memories were triggered just as they were always so easily triggered. He was there, gripping her arms, leaving the imprint of his fingers in bruises, pushing her back, her terrified screams locked inside her throat and playing out only inside her own head, his breath hot on her face, his mouth pressing hard on her lips...

Her shoulders sagged and she sank down like a rag doll. She'd come so close to changing her mind, but deep down she knew. There was only one way to end all this pain. Digging her fingernails into her palms, breathing hard, Dani stood shakily and looked down at the hungry sea, the wind flinging her hair wildly across her face, tears curling down the ridge of her cheeks. Soon it would all be over. One moment of terror and then the endless sleep. She gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut tight.

And then suddenly it came again. That cry like a solitary voice. Dani's eyes shot open. It couldn't be real. Surely out here the moon and the sea and the wind conspired to play all kinds of tricks on a vulnerable mind. The rain had stopped and more stars than she ever remembered seeing before shone brightly, lighting up the sky.

Suddenly, high on the rocks, she saw a flash of white. And this time there was no mistaking the cry.

"Anniedani! Anniedani! _Anniedani, Anniedani!"_

She started in shock at the child calling to her. And then the answer seemed to come in a blinding flash and she turned.

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"Jeee-zuus!" Melanie frowned. "Why not? You think you and Scott are the only people in the world who can nick cars! How the ------- hell d'you think I got back here so fast? Jeeez!"  
She gulped in yet another deep breath, fighting off an urge to fall into a sweet, alcohol-befuddled sleep. They had agreed not to call the cops. Cops would take too long and, worse, they could stuff up and make Scott angry enough to kill. All Scott wanted was the fortune and once he got that he would clear out of Summer Bay forever.

"Yeh, well, we'll get there heaps faster if we take the short cut across the cliff top walk. Twenty minutes tops. Going along the coast road, we'd have to drive real slow on the narrow parts, be heaps slippy after all the rain. It'd take too long."

Although he still had a crashing headache, Kane felt far less crook in the fresh sea air and was thinking more clearly. Kirsty and Jamie wouldn't still be waiting at the school. They'd reckon the ferry was delayed due to bad weather and, unaware of how much danger they were in, would have made their own way home.

He wiped his hot forehead, glad of the sea breezes that tasted of salt and stung his face with ice cold kisses. Ever since he could remember, the sea had been able to weave its calming magic on him. His earliest memory was of watching a distant ship heading out towards the ocean, the sunlight glinting on the wings of the gulls that circled above it as if bidding farewell to old, familiar friends. That was the very first time he'd felt the strong pull of the sea on his heart but it was never to be the last. Life then, even so young, was already all about dodging Dad's blows, knowing there was something not quite _right_ about Mum, looking to Scotty for protection, nicking stuff, finding someone's weakness and using it to your own advantage. He knew he had a sooky side, Dad and Scott told him often enough, and that was bad, that was something he had to get rid of.

But he also knew, even at such a tender age, that the sea would be where he would always go to dream dreams that he never told anyone until Kirsty.

Melanie shrugged, rolling her eyes impatiently. "Okay, okay, chill, we'll take the ------- short cut!"

The rusty second-hand car that Scotty had acquired without explanation had run out of gas and Scott had used Kane's car which had been conveniently parked outside. Her own choice of stolen car was newer, classier, obviously well looked after and loved by its (no doubt by now) frantic owner. She suited it, had had two guys driving in the opposite direction look back at her in a way that would have made her smile if she hadn't come to hate guys. But he was right about the coast road. In some places, high above the sea, it narrowed to almost single line traffic and its bends were death traps. Sheer luck had gotten her back to Yabbie Creek in one piece, despite two near misses when the grog clouded her judgement. But it hadn't clouded it _that_ much.

"But I want you to walk in front of me," she added.

"What?"

"You think I'm stupid? You've already attacked at least one chick!"

"It wasn't like that..."

"No, it never is. It's always the chick's fault, it's always what she was wearing, what she said, how she was teasing you...yeh, yeh, well, I've ------- well heard it all before, mate. Thousands of times. I'm doing this for your wife and kid. And I want you to walk in front. So if you still want my help start walk...What?"

"Ah, someone else asked me to walk in front once. She...it don't matter!" Kane turned towards the beach, desperate to get back to Kirsty and Jamie, glad to turn his back on her so she'd never know of the tears that he could now allow to flow freely.

"Smart chick," Melanie commented drily.

_"I want you to walk in front." _

"What?"

He stared at her blankly. All he'd done was knock a spider out of her hair. That was all. Hardly a reason to be glared at like that.

"I haven't forgotten what you did to Dani."

Jeez, that had cut him so deep that a knife turned round and round his heart. No use telling her how sorry he was about Dani. Sorry could never take away the pain, he knew that. He knew, like the murder, he'd done something so horrific he'd never be able to forgive himself let alone expect anyone else to forgive him. And this beautiful girl looking at him with so much disgust in her eyes as if he were the critter he'd just knocked to the ground.

This beautiful girl whom he had come to love so very, very much. Kirsty and Jamie were his whole life, his reason for living. That Scott might hurt them...

Melanie cautiously watched his retreating back, making sure he was a way ahead of her, just in case. Because if he so much as thought of trying it on with her, he'd live to regret it. She'd chuck the diamonds down from the cliff top into the sea and he'd never see his precious wife and son ever again.

Somehow though she had a feeling he wouldn't. He wasn't like Scott, didn't lash out every time he didn't get his own way. And Scott would never have turned quickly with tears filling his eyes like that for anyone.

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Kane couldn't hold the bile in his throat any longer. He chucked up, for the first time that night, and he looked up from the milky pool of vomit, hot tears of exertion from the retching pouring down his cheeks, but still Diane Phillips sat bolt upright, eyes glassy, lips tight, fingers interlaced primly on her lap, like a thin, white ghost.

"Come on, dork, we gotta go!"

Scotty's voice cutting suddenly into the silence startled him. He turned to his brother, squinting at him in the darkness though he knew who it was, vaguely wondering in a strange kind of _travelling-on-a-speeding-train-can't-stop_ kind of way why nobody had put the light on and what the kind man who'd brought Mum flowers must have thought to find the house all in darkness and why he and Scotty had to go anywhere.

"Go?"

"We gotta bury the diamonds." Scotty's face was red from his running and his breath was quickened with secrets.

"I don't wanna go nowhere..."

"I don't care if you wanna go or not! You got no ------- choice 'cos I saw it all and I'll dob ya in right now if ya don't do as ya told.?

"But we can't leave Ma, Scotty..."

"Yesss, we ------- can, she'll be like that for ages, and Dad ain't gonna be gone all night, we gotta bury the diamonds _now_! Get the knife, pick up the knife, we better bury that too! _Move it!" _Scott's vicious kick, square on Kane's calf, added urgency to the instruction.

The speeding train was out of control. Whooshing through his head, capturing vague images of the night. Their voices were hushed and yet too loud, they moved too quickly and yet too slowly, everything was strange and new, yet happened so very long ago.

The moonlight threaded through the trees, stealthily following their progress down the large back garden, and then in it danced through the gaping hole where, till it gave up the fight and caved in, a burnt-out roof once covered the woody-smelling garden shed. While the wind gave soft prima donna sighs and the sea rushed eagerly to the shore, the moon, hushed with confidences, kept silent watch while Scott brushed and blew several fast crawling ants off the rucksack, and then, noiselessly, like an ally sworn to secrecy, cast its thin triangle of light for a handful of curled, brown leaves to scurry into when Kane re-opened the strong, thick door that they'd so carefully closed behind them.

"What if we get caught?" Kane whispered, shivering, and, like Scotty had told him to, having wrapped the bloodied knife in an old, heavy jacket of Dad's that they'd found dumped in the shed.

"We won't get caught 'cos I'm too smart," Scotty said. He narrowed his eyes at his younger brother. "I'm takin' heaps of risks tonight 'cos I wanna keep the diamonds safe so _you_ better not stuff up else I'll ------- kill ya. Got it?"

"Got it," Kane nodded. He was a killer. He had to think like, move like, act like a killer now.

"Good!" Scotty said. "'Cos you better!"

He swiped him forcefully across the head á la Richie to make sure the message hit home, and Kane staggered backwards for a moment.

And then, having dispensed with the necessary formalities, they set off together into the summer night, with a rucksack full of treasures and an old jacket that concealed a knife smeared with fresh blood.


	21. Chapter 21

**CHAPTER 21**

**A graveyard. Icy and bleak, shrouded in grey mist, a wailing wind furiously shaking the trees. Through the cobwebby wisps of mist, a full moon coldly shines, dozens of bats soar noisily into the sky, and slowly, slowly, the restless dead begin to topple their ancient coffins and rise...**

**Scotty's mind had tumbled with ideas and it was the darkest picture he could find. The graveyard would be enough to frighten Kane into keeping his mouth shut forever about the diamonds. Their long walk through the night had finally brought them to the foot of the curving stone steps that led to the old church. He looked down at his younger brother and Kane turned, wondering why they'd stopped, his teeth still chattering, to Scotty's irritation.**

**"This is it," Scott whispered.**

**Kane nodded miserably.**

**"You're a _killer_ now. There's no goin' back."**

**Kane nodded again.**

**"Okay." Scott tilted his head towards the cemetery to indicate the way forward. "And stop those ------- teeth chatterin', drongo!" He added as they ran up steps that were chipped with age.**

**"They won't say nothin'!" Kane promised, baffled when Scotty's response was to angrily kick him.**

**Although the moon was round and full, the long-dead of Summer Bay stubbornly refused to conform to the image in Scotty's mind. Like the setting for some dreamy, romantic movie, a slow breeze half-heartedly stirred tree branches, crickets chirped, traffic droned somewhere in the distance and across the beautiful summer night a calm sea lapped gently to the shore. Save for a handful of small black clouds drifting through the moon-bright sky and the black silhouette of the old church, the graveyard that night was hardly the stuff of nightmares.**

**But Kane's eyes had seen more than many far older than he would ever see in a lifetime, and he shook as they buried the blood-spattered knife, every one of his shuddering breaths filled with terror. His own nightmare had begun long ago.**

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No sound in the world could be more lonely than the ticking of a clock. When her children Lance and Maureen were small, the clock could never be heard but, busy with shopping, cooking and cleaning, bathing cut knees and sorting out their frequent squabbles, Colleen never noticed.**

**The years flew by and Lance and Maureen became teenagers, their loud music, louder friends and still frequent squabbles drowning out the steady tick-tock. Then, all too soon, they were grown up with children of their own. Colleen found herself in great demand as babysitter to her grandchildren and to many of the younger Summer Bay residents and, what with working at the Diner and busying herself about the Bay, there was never a minute to sit alone.**

**And so time ticked quickly by without Colleen realising. Her grown-up children and their families moved away from Summer Bay. The young Summer Bay residents grew old enough not to need babysitters and the new generation's parents asked younger people to sit in with their offspring. While Colleen became old. Slow and forgetful and muddled and able to remember years gone by in great detail yet sometimes not even able to recall things that happened five minutes ago.**

**A couple of days a week she still worked at the Diner, but she knew Alf only let her stay because he felt sorry for her. In truth, Colleen's "work" consisted of chatting to customers and making the occasional drink or sandwich. And the Phillips still asked her to "babysit" but what they really meant was _Come and have dinner with us _because they never went out and left Colleen alone with Jamie anymore. Not since the time, three years ago, when Colleen had woken up on their couch, forgotten she was babysitting and gone home, leaving Jamie in the kitchen scattering the contents of the kitchen cupboards.**

**Kirsty and Kane had returned from their night out to find a very tired two-year-old, lonely tears streaming down his face, jam on his nose and cornflakes in his hair, sitting in sugar and trying to read himself and his teddy bear a bedtime story from the back of an upside-down cornflakes packet.**

**But tonight, this lonely night, the ticking of the clock was loud and relentless as Colleen sat waiting and listening. Somehow she knew in her heart that Ron was never coming back.**

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It was a while before Jade found her voice.**

**"I...I have to tell Seb," she said, still stunned by the doctor's diagnosis. "But I..I don't know how we'll cope..."**

**"We'll manage," Shelley said. "Whatever happens, you'll always have your family behind you."**

**Jade managed a weak smile. "And Kirsty? Mum, we promised...we promised we'd always stay twins and I need her so much more now. I don't want to lose Kirsty."**

**Rhys cleared his throat. The news the consultant had given them put everything in perspective. "We won't lose her. We'll make our peace with Kane and Kirsty." He looked across at his wife.**

**Shelley bit her lip, understanding the silent question. Were their lives really so empty that it took something like this to make them realise how bitter they'd become? Their daughter (they would _always_ think of Jade as their daughter) looked so young, so defenceless, in the white hospital bed. She had always been the most timid of their children and, even now she was grown up, it was easy still to see the child in her wide, frightened eyes.**

**Jade toyed with something on her wrist, giving a small, self-conscious laugh as they noticed.**

**"It's a friendship bracelet," she explained, pulling at the strands of pink wool. "Kirsty made us one each in our favourite colours when we were about ten. Pink for me, green for Kirst, rainbow for Dani. Bigger than we needed then so we could keep them forever. We said whenever we missed each other, we'd wear them, and, well...I...I kept mine and still wear it when I miss Kirsty and Dani. Stupid, I know."**

**"It's not stupid at all, darling. It's somehow...somehow what families _should_ be about," Shelley said, the friendship bracelet jogging a long-forgotten memory.**

_**To Shelley's huge disappointment, Hannah, the little girl she was fostering, barely glanced at the pretty new dress hanging on the back of the door. Shelley had meant it to be a lovely surprise when she woke. But Hannah, in old, faded pyjamas that she refused to be parted with, jumped off the bed as usual, and, ignoring the Bugs Bunny slippers bought for her when she first arrived, toddled off in her bare feet, as always, to the twins' room. ** _

**It had become something of a ritual. The twins were deep sleepers and so the three-year-old would stand in the middle of the room, waiting patiently for Kirsty to waken, but up till now Kirsty never had and Shelley would always gently pick Hannah up and carry her down to breakfast. But that morning out in the road a car suddenly backfired and Kirsty's eyes unexpectedly flickered open.**

**"Hey," she said, smiling at the little girl. "I see you got it on, huh?"**

**Hannah nodded, the first smile that she had smiled since before the accident lighting up her face, as she lifted up her hand to show off the motley strands of wool wrapped around her small, plump wrist. Last night, doing a colleague a favour, Shelley had brought home a basket full of unravelled woollen garments, ready to pass on to the old peoples' day care centre, and Kirsty had pestered and pestered until Shelley allowed her to take some wool. Now she knew why.**

**Feeling suddenly like an intruder, Shelley stepped quietly out of the room. Despite all her knowledge, despite all her exams and training and experience, it was a ten-year-old child who had provided the breakthrough that little Hannah Clegg needed to pull her through the trauma of seeing a car kill her father and seriously injure here mother.**

**"Friendship bracelets," Shelley smiled. "It was the sort of thing Kirsty always did. You're probably too young to remember, but she made one for Hannah Clegg. The little girl I fostered who went to live in Canada when she grew up."**

**"Oh, I remember Hannah well!" Jade grinned. "She's training to be a child psychologist now, did you know? Engaged to a doctor and they're expecting their first bub in the spring. They're hoping Kirsty and Kane can make it over when they get married, maybe next year. She and Kirsty regularly write and phone each other."**

**"They do?" Shelley couldn't help the pang of jealousy. Each year she received beautiful Xmas and birthday cards from Hannah, but never any news.**

**"I guess that terrible tragedy when she was very young influenced her career choice," Jade said pensively. "Somehow I can't picture her grown up though. I still see her at three years old, standing there looking so scared you just wanted to hug her tight. She was a cute little girl." She sighed deeply, suddenly remembering her own fears, twisting the friendship bracelet round and round.**

**"So were you," Rhys said. "And, no matter what, you'll always be our little girl."**

**"Your family will be with you all through this, sweetie" Shelley added. "All of us. Seb, and Dani and Mark, Kirsty and Jamie." She drew in a deep breath. It wasn't going to be easy. "And Kane.. He's part of the family too."**

**--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
_"Anniedani!"_ Jamie called helplessly, his voice wavering..**

**His only chance and now she was gone. He wished now he hadn't run away from Mum though it had seemed the right thing to do at the time, getting away from the madman, going to fetch Dad. Mum and Dad were the only people in the whole world who _really_ loved him. He knew that because Gran and Grandad, Anniedani and Anniejade, they loved him in a different way. They loved him _but_...**

**The hesitation before Anniedani took his hand. The way Grandad ran his fingers through his hair. The look in Gran's eyes. The way Anniejade curled her lip. Did they think he never _saw_? Did they think Jamie, the smartest kid in his class, didn't _know_ love shouldn't have any buts? And then there was Annietasha and Nanny Irene. They loved him, but Annietasha had got on a plane and gone far away, just to have her photograph taken, and Nanny Irene had got in a car and gone far away, to see her other grandkids, and when the madman had come tonight they hadn't been there.**

**And Anniecolleen, who watched kids' videos, played games and drew pictures with him when Jamie babysat her - the grown-ups said she babysat Jamie but Jamie knew the truth - all she cared about lately was Mr Wilson. Jamie couldn't figure why she didn't just pash him.**

**His legs were hurting from walking uphill. He didn't know which way was forward and he didn't know which way was back. Everywhere, the parts he could see whenever the temperamental moonlight chose to teasingly peep from behind the rainclouds, looked exactly the same: cold and wet; grey and lonely. His only hope had been Anniedani and Anniedani had left him. And it was sooo cold and he was sooo tired.**

**Jamie sat forlornly down on the hard ground, hugging his knees to his chin, taking deep breaths to try and stop himself from crying. But the first two large tears, mixed in with hiccups, spilled down on to his cheeks, followed quickly by several more. There were strange shadows watching him and strange noises echoing around him. As if ghosts or monsters or witches, curious to know why he was there, were gathering, discussing him in whispers that till now he'd thought were the drizzling rain and the roaring sea.**

**_There he is, there he is, there he is... _the whispers were saying, faster and faster, closer and closer, more and more of them gathering, sometimes whistling in signal to one another, no longer fooling him into thinking it was only the whistle of the wind. Like ice cold fingers, the sea breezes breathed on the back of his neck. _Ice cold fingers..._**

**Jamie sprang up in terror and ran wildly through the darkness. Far below the sea was inky black except for where glimmers of moonlight danced on the water. He tried to stay calm, to form a plan. Maybe if he followed the sea it would guide him back down to the beach. Steeling himself not to look round in case the shadows had gained on him, the little boy began to pick his way over the crumbling rocks towards the dark waters. He tried singing Mum and Dad's wedding song again.**

**"I'm up on the roof...your car drive by..." The little voice was breathless with hidden sobs now.**

**Weird thing to sing about, Jamie thought, desperately trying to take his mind off the terrifying shadows. Rock like Mrs Parker sold to tourists in Ye Olde Summer Bay Lolly Shoppe and rolls like Mr Stewart sold in the Bayside Diner. Jamie pictured in his mind a guy sitting on the roof and opening the box that contained his lunch, only to find that the stick of rock and a cheese roll had been nicked by the person driving away in the car, and leaning over the roof to yell, "Hey! Rock'n'roll is mine!"**

**A flash of moonlight suddenly opened up the world. So near the edge! Jamie wasn't meant to be so near the edge. He was meant to be much further back, not swaying like this with the wind behind him and a cold sea swirling beneath him. Okay, he had to be heaps brave now. He had to be real careful when he stepped backwards, the wind was strong and the cliffs were slippy, and if he put his foot in the wrong place he would fa...**

**...was falling...**


	22. Chapter 22

**chapter 22**

Three people were to die in Summer Bay that night. The more superstitious of the Summer Bay folk said afterwards perhaps it was always meant to be, perhaps the stars really do sketch patterns for each of us to follow from the day we are born - and they recalled then, almost in whispers, how bright, how countless the stars had been in Summer Bay the night three people died.

But you and I know there always will be superstitions and there always will be questions that remain unanswered. I can't tell you if this or that meant anything any more than I can tell you how many grains of sand there are on the beach. The truth is, I really don't know.

All I _can_ tell you for certain is that, strangely, the dark night grew steadily brighter. The moon was full. Hundreds of stars sparkled in the vast, calm sky. The storm had passed far across the ocean.

And the night was waiting. As death does.

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Jeez, she'd asked him to walk in front, not to check out how he'd fare if they ever held Olympics for walking! Melanie gave another little run, trying to keep up. Kane strode on ahead, fists clenched, shoulders hunched, taking in none of the panoramic views that the cliff-top walk was famed for.

So it was Melanie, pausing to recover from the stitch in her side, who saw them first. The two people across the gap, on the dangerous, forbidden area of the cliffs, scuffling with each other to reach down to something below them on the rocks.

Noiselessly, instinctively trusting him now, she raced after her boyfriend's brother, the stamp of her feet kicking up powdery sand that a bored, restless wind had blown up onto the path, catching up with him, pressing her hand on his shoulder.

"Kane!"

He followed her gaze.

"One of them's Scott," Melanie said. "I'm not sure of the other."

"Ron Wilson," he replied, squinting. "Jamie's teacher."

She swung round, startled. "You sure?"

"Positive, though I dunno what he's doing out here. What the hell they after?"

And then they saw. Below Scott Phillips and Ron Wilson, a small figure crouched on a long, narrow ledge that jutted out from the cliff-top, arms squeezed tightly around his head, shutting out the world.

But the world was coming to Jamie. Around him crumbling pieces of rock splashed into the swirling sea, where larger, more jagged rocks poked out of the water. On the tiny ledge where he'd landed when he slipped, Jamie was safe. But only for now. More rocks were falling. The only sure way out was upwards on to the flatter, higher ground.

Above him, the madman and Jamie's teacher had tried to persuade him to make the climb but Jamie was having none of it. One of them wanted to kill him. One of them had a knife that he'd pressed to Jamie's throat. Around him the cliff face crumbled as it had crumbled for hundreds of years.

Its very fragility meant it often yielded fossils from the dawn of pre-history but its inaccessibility made it a dangerous place where climbers had died and ships had been dashed against the rocks. The hungry sea had been known to reveal so many secrets here, dinosaur footprints, trilobites, treasure trove, wood from shipwrecks. And sometimes even bones.

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"Dani...?" Kirsty gasped in disbelief.

Still unable to put any weight on the broken foot, yet desperate to find Jamie, Kirsty had managed to crawl out on to the short cut, but she had made her way there with frustrating, agonising slowness and it was with enormous relief that she saw someone coming down the path towards her.

But never in her wildest dreams did she think that someone would be Dani! After Kane or Jade, the person she'd have most chosen to have by her side right now.

"Did you see them, Dan? Did you see any of them?"

Dani appeared to be in some sort of trance, blinking as though the unusually bright starlight was hurting her eyes. Kirsty tried to pull herself up and the action seemed suddenly to wake her. She sprang forward to help and Kirsty leaned gratefully on her, quickly garbling out her story.

"I...I'm sorry, Kirst, I didn't see Jamie," Dani said truthfully. "I didn't see anyone at all except..." She was bewildered. She didn't know how she'd got here. She didn't remember walking down from the cliffs. It was as though she'd slept for a long, long time and only now was slowly waking. "Someone was calling me and when I looked up I saw...I saw a little girl..."

_"Anniedani, Anniedani!" _

Dani opened her eyes again. She hadn't imagined it. Someone really WAS calling her name. The child who stood out there on the cliffs, pushing long, toffee-coloured hair out of her eyes and waving. For a moment Dani wondered if she had somehow already passed over into death. If she had already jumped but couldn't remember jumping. After all, there was something so strange about this night, with its sudden eerie calm and starlight bright as day.

"Anniedani! Anniedani!"

Realising that at last Dani had seen her, the little girl's voice was less frantic, but still insistent, keen to keep her attention. She smiled at Dani, using both hands now to push back her wild hair. A habit that Kirsty had had too when she was small.

And in that moment Dani had known so much, so much that, try as she might, she couldn't remember now. Nothing. Nothing after the little girl smiling at her till waking here with Kirsty.

Somehow she knew everything would be alright. At least, for herself. But some tragedy was to befall the little Phillips family and they would need Dani, the strong, confident Dani she had been before the rape, to lean on. And then there was Jade. Jade had some secret, Dani had known what out there on the cliffs, but now she didn't.

She looked at her sister's tear-streaked face, eyes desperate for news of her little boy, and her heart went out to her. It was a long, long time since she'd thought of Kirsty and Jade as "the babies", they were, all three, grown up now, each leading their own busy lives. But Dani always would be their older sister, always protective of them.

Way back when she first learnt that Kirsty had fallen in love with Kane Phillips her fear that he might hurt Kirsty outweighed even her fear of coming face-to-face again with her attacker. She had done everything she could to split them up till she came to slowly realise that his love for Kirsty was genuine and then she had done all she could to accept them and bury her own painful memories.

She enveloped Kirsty in a hug as tight as the hugs she'd given her when they were small.

"Kirst," she whispered tearfully. "I...I saw a ghost. I saw Lily."

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The sea was icy though the night was warm, but Kane didn't care about the cold. He waded further and deeper into the water till Scott suddenly yanked him back.

"What ya doin', drongo? I told ya wash the blood off, not drown ya ------- self!"

Kane turned to his brother, willing him to understand. Even if Scott never understood anything else in his life, he had to understand and for once not laugh at him or smash a fist in his face. "I killed a guy, Scotty, I killed a guy!"

"Yeh. I know," Scotty said, with unScottylike patience, after seeming to think it over for a bit. "And I ain't never gonna dob ya in s'long's ya keep ya mouth zipped about the diamonds. So what ya gotta do now is cut out the sookiness. It ain't gonna do ya no good next time Ma's actin' like a fruitcake or Dad's pickin' up the belt."

Dad! Jeez, in all the panic of burying the knife Kane had forgotten! Dad had been about to bash him till Scott intervened to remind him to get rid of the body.

"I'm dead, Scotty, I'm ------- dead, Dad's really gonna lay into me!"

"Trust me, he ain't. We're gonna go home now like nothin' happened and it'll be apples."

Scott was older, wiser in the ways of the world. People didn't just turn up at back doors with bouquets of flowers to meet someone who sat waiting in the dark with a packed suitcase. Nope, the one who was really gonna to cop it tonight was Mum.

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"It's Jamie, Mel! It's my son!" Kane's voice was thick with emotion.

He ran off the yellow-arrowed path towards the more rugged area, but she stayed where she was, staring upwards as if transfixed by the terror of the moment.

There is a point in Summer Bay, high above the sea, a gap known as Devil's Leap, where the cliff top walk and the perilous area of the cliffs come closest to meeting. Over the centuries, many a foolhardy rambler has died in attempting to cross it and, back in the early Eighties, there was a particularly terrible tragedy when four drunken teenagers played Dare and the only survivor, a pretty, blonde-haired dance student, had been paralysed from the neck down when she fell on the cliffs.

But danger was the last thing on Kane's mind; he saw only his son and he took Devil's Leap without even thinking about the possible consequences, needing to suddenly grasp a particularly large boulder as yet more rock crumbled underfoot. Jamie was to the right of him, but lower down and though Kane called to him to reassure, the little boy kept his arms firmly wrapped around his head, far too traumatised now to hear anyone, even his father.

Kane clawed desperately at the cliff-side and began making his way downwards. But small rocks immediately worked themselves loose, bringing with them more stones and dirt that tumbled past Jamie like rain and fell with loud splashes into the water. He had no choice but to jump back, dicing with death yet again, or his actions would bury his son under the rocks.

Melanie had made her way to the edge of the path and he turned to her, his hands bleeding and raw, tears shining on his face, furious with himself. "I'm making things worse, it won't take the weight of an adult!"

"But it might take mine," Melanie said quietly, removing the rucksack from her shoulder and laying it down on the path.

"Mel, I can't ask you to jump..."

"You're not asking. I'm telling."

Before he had time to say anything more, she'd jumped, closing her eyes in thankful relief when her feet landed on something solid and the rock remained steady. Taking a deep breath, she swung her skinny, light-as-a-child's, drug-wracked body down on to the cliffs and slithered snake-like across the cliffs, till she finally reached the narrow ledge and carefully lowered herself down. Jamie was staring down at the water. An icy grave below, a madman with a knife above. It was a terrible choice for a terrified small boy.

"Jamie," Melanie whispered. "Give me your hand!"

He didn't seem to hear her.

Melanie slid closer. The ledge was barely big enough to hold both of them and she needed for him to stand and edge his way towards her.

"Jamie," she said again, reaching out, managing to lightly touch his head with the tips of her fingers.

Jamie jumped so suddenly at the feathery touch that he nearly toppled them both. He blinked at her, bewildered. But the bright, breathless night had already been so strange. Someone appearing on the ledge next to him was just one more jumbled image in a nightmare jigsaw of jumbled images.

"I need my Dad," he said plaintively, shivering, his lips quivering with his need to cry and his battle to hold back the tears.

"He's here. You'll see him soon," Melanie smiled gently. "But first I need for you to be very brave and take my hand, then stand up real careful for me. You got that?"

More rock chippings fell from above while the sea sloshed wildly beneath them. Time was running out. But Melanie felt his small hand tightly grip her own and she guided him carefully to his feet. Now for the most difficult part. She tugged the little boy gently to her. Then she turned to him, placing both her hands under his arms, her left foot only just fitting on the ledge even here where it was at its widest.

Momentarily, she closed her eyes again, inwardly praying she could do this. She had to remember she wasn't alone. The two men above were reaching down. But only one of those men wanted to help. The other wanted to kill him.

"I'm gonna lift you now, Jamie. Ready?"

He nodded, watching her trustingly, his sparkling blue eyes exactly like his father's. Maybe one day he too would grow up to hurt someone. Maybe, Melanie thought bitterly, it was all that guys ever did.

She pressed herself back into the corner where the cliffs were more sturdy and, gritting her teeth, pulled the child up on to her shoulders, biting her tongue and swallowing blood. But she barely had time for the pain to register. Scott Phillips and Ron Wilson were both trying to reach the kid. She stretched, twisting towards Ron...

And then a harrowing memory suddenly rushed back. She hesitated and looked back at Kane.

_It would be the ultimate revenge..._

She suddenly fell back on her heels, twisted herself around, shuffled sideways, further and further away from Ron Wilson, reached upwards again, crying out in pain as she pulled a muscle in her back, but with every ounce of her being determinedly stretching her skinny body taut, Melanie reached as high as she could ...

...And passed Jamie to Scott...


	23. Chapter 23

**chapter 23**

Two small shadows in the moonlight, they made the final leg of their journey, past the frosted windows of the pub filled with noise and smoke and music, past the derelict office block, past the drug deal being agreed with stealthy handshakes, past the young girl aged before her time, lank blonde hair falling over her face as she discussed terms through the window of the car that slowed down, up the steep hill that led to the Phillips' squalid home.

Scott walked with a swagger, whistling snatches of the song they'd overheard as they'd passed the pub, at peace with the world now that the diamonds were safely buried. Kane walked alongside, shivering, water dripping from his clothes, his shoes squelching noisily as they turned into their driveway. The front of the house was in darkness so they went round to the back and in the harsh blaze of light from the naked bulb they saw their mother, face deathly white, eyes wild and staring unseeingly, standing by the sink at the kitchen window, filling a bucket with steaming hot water.

"Mum!" Kane's relief to see her moving about again was so overwhelming that he could have cried.

Scotty let him run on ahead, like one tended to do with a little kid. Time enough for Kane to find out for himself. He strolled leisurely in after his younger brother. Diane Phillips threw a bucket of soapy water over the kitchen floor and scrubbed at it furiously with a stiff-bristled broom. There was dried blood on her face and arms and she was muttering to herself as she scrubbed, oblivious of her small son trying to engage her in conversation.

Despairing, Kane ran back to Scott for guidance. "Ma's actin' like a choc'late sponge again!"

_"Fruitcake," _Scott corrected automatically. He shrugged. "Yeh, well, 's'only what I expected. I need a smoke, it's been a helluva night!"

He drew a packet of cigarettes and box of matches from his back pocket and, for dramatic effect, the way he'd often seen Dad do, leaned casually against the wall to strike a match against his shoe. But Scotty's shoes were still wet from the beach and now from the kitchen floor and the effect was spoilt somewhat by the match refusing to light. Scott cursed and struck a second match, against the wall this time, lighting up with a flourish and inhaling deeply.

"See..." he said importantly, blowing out smoke and tapping ash on the floor. "She finally turned into a _whole_ fruitcake. I've been expectin' it to happen for a looong time."

He nodded sagely, like a well respected family doctor, before he and Kane needed to jump swiftly out of the way of another bucketful of soapy water that flowed past like a stream, carrying in its wake flattened flowers, splinters of glass and assorted debris that may or may not have been bits of the victim's skull.

Unperturbed, Dr Scott Augustus Phillips straightened himself up, took another drag on the cigarette and opened his mouth, about to elaborate on his diagnosis. But he never did. Because that was when Dad got back.

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"What the hell you doin'?" Kane roared furiously. "What the hell you ------- doin'?"

But Melanie only looked down at him, too breathless to answer, her face soaked with tears. Frantic to reach his son, Kane took a step backwards, preparing to dice with death and take Devil's Leap yet again.

_"Stay where ya ------- well are, ya drongo!" _Scott, holding Jamie by the scruff of his neck, suddenly yelled urgently.

Something in his voice made Kane freeze. And took him far, far back to another place, another time.

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_Triple_ welfare money day! Double welfare money day could occasionally happen but something to do with the way the holidays fell that year made it a rare hat trick. Dad usually spent the welfare money on drink but Richie Phillips hadn't bothered to come home last night so Mum had got to the mail first and, having one of her good days, she playfully fluttered the cheque under their noses while they were eating brekkie.

"Smell all that lovely lolly, kids! I'm gonna buy heaps and when yas get home from school this house is gonna smell of bacon and beans and coffee and chockie..."

"Chock-_late?" _Kane dropped his spoon in the cornflakes in surprise, splashing spots of milk on the corner of the cheque, so shocked was he by this incredible announcement.

But Mum only laughed and wiped it dry with the cuff of her faded black cardigan, the only cardigan she owned and that was badly in need of replacing.

"Dead set, Kaney!" She said, using the baby nickname that she only ever used when she was feeling particularly maternal towards him. "So yas better come straight home from school."

"You betcha!" Scott grinned, Mum's good humour rubbing off on him, and he even got up and rinsed his cereal bowl under the tap though he normally preferred to leave a trail of destruction behind him.

But they got home late. As pre-arranged, Scott and his mates had needed Kane to act as look-out while they did over a store in a small row of shops where they'd recently discovered the only security to be a doddery old man who stayed in his hut watching a small portable TV or drinking tea from a giant flask, often reading or sleeping when he should have been out patrolling.

Kane had banged his shoulder because, bored with waiting, he'd been walking on the wooden rail that surrounded the shops, playing he was crossing swampland on a tightrope and the billowing pieces of garbo were man-eating crocodiles, and he'd jumped down too quickly to run back to warn the others when "Lightning", waving a torch and speaking hurriedly into a crackling radio, unexpectedly came around the corner. "Lightning" would of course have been on to the cops so Scott and Kane couldn't chance waiting for the hourly bus when they split from the others, so they'd cut across the beach and, keeping to the shadows, had walked all the way home from Yabbie Creek. Kane was rubbing his sore shoulder and limping because of a blister on his heel, but he was happy enough, looking forward to something decent to eat. He and Scotty were starving.

But alarm bells rang in the little boy's head soon as they saw drops of blood and the loose coins that were scattered on the stairs. In a normal home it might have meant someone had accidentally cut their finger and clumsily dropped what they were carrying. In the Phillips' home it almost certainly meant that Richie Phillips had beaten his wife (who'd been trying to flee) for spending the welfare cheque, and then taken what was left from her purse.

Sure enough, wearing the same faded black cardigan that she'd worn that morning, Diane Phillips sat immobile at the bedroom window, staring silently out at the moon or for someone who never came, her face so badly swollen that it looked like she'd gone ten rounds in a boxing ring. She had retreated again into a world of her own and was oblivious to Kane's anxious _Are you okays? _and tentative hand on her arm.

"You best try not to laugh," he said finally, too young to understand the irony of his advice, and genuinely concerned that the swelling might be made worse if she did.

"She ain't gonna ------- laugh, jerk!" Scotty said in a funny kind of throaty voice, having watched them both in silence, and now swiping his younger brother round the head. "C'mon, guess we'll haveta do our own supper."

_"Now?" _Kane looked worriedly back at his mother.

"No, two years next Tuesday. C'mon, dork!"

Kane reluctantly followed Scotty out the room to examine the contents of the kitchen fridge. He gasped when they saw. Mum had done them proud. Instead of its usual half bottle of milk, two or three eggs and maybe a few rashers of bacon, the fridge was heaving with goodies, including, what really brought a lump to his throat, two giant-size Mars Bars, obviously intended for himself and Scott. And the larder was a further revelation, packed tight with tins!

"Get plates, quick!" Scotty instructed.

Kane didn't need telling twice. They piled two cracked, not-very-clean dinner plates with cooked sliced ham, tomatoes, lumps of cheese, an apple, cold beans and smoky bacon flavoured potato chips, smothered all except the apples in brown sauce, and then, with a Mars bar tucked at the side of each plate for dessert, sat at the kitchen table to enjoy their peculiar feast.

But Kane had barely taken one mouthful when Dad's voice suddenly boomed, his speech slurred with drink, and they heard the unmistakable clink of the broken bike chain that Richie had lately taken to beating him with.

"Kane! You better be in bed, boy. I got the taste of blood tonight and if ya not in bed, I'm gonna give ya the hidin' of ya ------- life?

Richie was almost at the kitchen door. There was nowhere to run to and no time for running. Kane looked desperately at Scott.

"In there!" He said, opening the door and shoving Kane into the central heating cupboard. "Don't make a sound and whatever happens _stay where ya ------- well are!"_

The hell houses had been built back in the days of coal fires and central heating had been a fairly recent addition, the boiler installed some thirty or more years ago. While it wasn't the most efficient of heating systems, it was a vast improvement on having to go to all the trouble of lighting a blazing fire, especially when the weather was sweltering.

Days in the little town of Summerhill were inevitably stifling hot, but by night an almost icy chill from the sea would often creep into the air, suddenly plunging the temperatures by several degrees. Shivering, Richie flicked on the central heating switch and stared at the two dinner plates.

"What the ------- hell is _that?"_

"Supper," Scotty said. "I made you some too, Dad. Thought ya might be hungry."

"Supper? It's bloody pigswill!" Richie hurled Kane's hastily abandoned plate across the room. His wife could clean it up tomorrow.

The boiler fired up suddenly, making Kane gasp as the heat burnt his back. Through the grille on the cupboard door he saw his father swivel round, swinging the bike chain. But the ageing boiler often made noises as water gurgled its way through the old pipes and Richie turned back to his eldest son.

"And where's the other ------- useless drongo?"

Kane held his breath and closed his eyes. The bike chain was clinking more than ever. Dad was either curling it round his fist or unfurling it. Either way, like he was ready to give someone a bashing. Everything hinged on Scott now. It seemed like a lifetime before Scotty answered.

"Bed. Ages ago."

Jeez, he was gonna owe Scotty heaps for that one! No doubt his bro would make him pay too, but all that mattered for now was that Kane was off the hook.

"And was ya really gonna eat that muck for supper?"

"Ye-eh." Scotty was wary.

"Jee-zus!" His father roared with laughter, wiping his eyes. Scott had always been his favourite. Nobody's fool, was Scotty! Richie sank down, pulled a small bottle of brandy from inside his jacket and took a gulp. "Met a guy tonight, son, I hadn't seen in years. But I never forgot what the mongrel looked like. See, he dobbed me in to the cops to save his own skin. Well, tonight it was payback!"

_"Yeh?" _Scott was suitably impressed, all ears as he tucked back into his supper.

The boiler fired up again, scorching Kane's back and legs, but if he moved forward, away from it, the door would be pushed open and Dad would find him. He could only stay where he was, sweat pouring down him. And Richie Phillips was in no hurry to leave. He loved to tell long, rambling stories, about how he'd got revenge or how he'd made a cop look stupid or how he'd clinched some deal, and Scott was always a willing audience.

Scott finished off his meal and later he must have had second helpings of something or other because Kane could hear the scraping of a fork or spoon against a plate (couldn't be Dad, someone with a much heavier tread was crashing into things) but by now he was too exhausted by heat and fear to be bothered looking.

Soon after Scott must have gone to bed because Kane could hear only Dad, laughing in the crazy, whooping way he often laughed when he was getting high. Richie stayed up late, mysteriously chopping something with what could have been a poker or an axe or even the bike chain. Kane and Scotty had long since figured the occasional night-time chopping up had something to do with drugs because always, the day after they'd heard a chopping session, the regular junkies would be banging on the Phillips' windows to buy. The chopping went on for some time before his father finally began snoring. But nobody had turned off the central heating!

It got jauntily into its stride, flattered by its new-found popularity, firing up over and over, the scalding hot water gurgling happily through every pipe in the house. Drenched in sweat, the little boy fought harder and harder to breathe, knowing he was close to blacking out and falling against the door, and, if that happened, the crash would inevitably wake his drink and drug-crazed father.

And then the door was opened slowly and quietly. Kane staggered dizzily out, like a battle-weary soldier who'd just fought his way through a war-torn jungle, ready to collapse except Scotty was holding him up, both of them half watching Richie, who sat snoring with his head on the kitchen table, a bag of drugs in one hand, the bike chain in the other.

"You owe me," Scott whispered as they crept out. "Big time."

But maybe he forgot or maybe he was saving it for something much, much bigger because, somehow, Kane never did get Scotty's usual demand for payment, though the years rolled on by.

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"You wanna get us all killed? You're gonna bring the whole ------- lot down! _Stay where ya ------- well are!" _Scott roared. Like they were kids again. Like he could push him around, beat up on him, tell him what to do, but in the end looking out for his kid brother.

"Scotty!" He yelled above the thunder of the waves. "I got what you want, I got the stash right here! Give Jamie to Ron!"

"Chuck the bag up here then!"

"Don't be ------- stupid, it could miss!"

"It better ------- not!"

Ron Wilson, with blood pouring down his face from his previous encounter with Scott, staggered to his feet. Scott dodged him easily, beginning to enjoy himself, high on the adrenaline of the moment. Teasing the older man, easily dancing round him. More rock chippings tumbled down, hurling past Melanie, who pressed herself back, shielding her face.

Vaguely Kane felt some concern for her despite her betrayal, but Jamie was his priority. "Scotty! Give Jamie to Ron and I'll chuck ya the bag!"

Ron Wilson tried again to snatch Jamie while avoiding the knife and only succeeded in earning a kick from Scott that sent him sprawling and gasping for breath. Scott paused briefly to admire his handiwork before yelling back.

"Nah! You first, bro! See, I get nervous when I go first. Y'know, kinda makes me drop stuff! I get the stash first and I _promise_ ya the anklebiter stays safe!"

The rucksack was all he had to bargain with. Scott was balanced on the precipice. If Kane jumped across, he would bring more of the cliff-side down and the possibility of Scott and Jamie falling with it. He had no choice but to trust his brother now. Had to hope the bag would land safely and Scotty would keep his promise.

Gritting his teeth, Kane threw the bag across the gap. It landed. Just. A little distance below Scott, but it had landed. His brother would be able to reach it, bring it up, though he'd have to be real careful. Which meant there was still a chance Scott would let Jamie go. There had to be hope. Because hope was all that Kane had left now.

"Okay, you got the stash! Give Jamie to Ron!"

And then all hope was cruelly dashed.

Scott grinned.

"Ya never really thought I was gonna do that, did ya, sucker? _No ------- way!"_


	24. Chapter 24

**chapter 24**

"I'll do the talking!" Scott hissed, throwing down the cigarette as Richie Phillips' footsteps drew ever nearer.

Kane nodded. Jeez, as if he was gonna argue! Scotty could talk all he wanted. He could sing, tap dance, even hire a troupe of acrobats for all Kane cared. Anything to keep Dad's attention away from him.

"We got rid of the knife for ya, Dad," Scott said in the smooth, ingratiating voice he often kept for his father.

"Where?" Richie looked down at the cigarette his eldest son was stamping out. He already knew Scotty smoked and wasn't particularly bothered provided Scotty didn't nick any of his.

"Chucked it in the sea."

It wasn't in the sea. It was buried in a churchyard along with Dad's old jacket and a bag full of diamonds. Puzzled, Kane looked askance at Scotty, but Scotty himself was too busy watching out for their father's reaction to notice. And Richie "Gus" Phillips had quickly lost interest in his kids. Arms folded, face like thunder, he was staring intently at his wife.

Whether or not Diane Phillips was even aware of anyone else being in the room with her was anybody's guess. As if all alone, she continued to push the broom through the soapy water, muttering to herself. Then she picked up the bucket again, poured its contents down the kitchen sink, filled it afresh under the gushing taps, added some green, pine-smelling liquid from a bottle, and poured yet more scalding hot, soapy water over the kitchen's bare floorboards.

And still the blood remained.

Stubbornly refusing to be erased, although everything else, the strewn flowers and the pebble-like glass and the brown alcohol stains and the sand and the mud, even the grease and crumbs and filth of years, yielded under the fierce cleansing. But not the blood. The blood stayed exactly where it had been spilled.

Her audience of three watched in silence. Above the contented hum of the fridge the only sounds were the clanging of the bucket and the swish of the broom that caught pink and white petals and two dead cockroaches in its bristles, and Diane Phillips' odd soliloquy.

_"He loves me...he loves me not... he loves me not... he loves me... he loves me not..." _She muttered in a sing-song voice, in rhythm with each new sweep.

"So ya chucked it in the sea?" Richie finally said, still without once taking his gaze off his wife. You done good. Used ya head for once. Now get outta my ------- sight, the both of ya."

So they were safe. They ran out of the room without pausing even to close the door. Mum was the one gonna cop it tonight and there was nothing they could do to stop it. Oh, but the _screaming..._

The screaming would haunt them forever.

They had heard Mum's screams before. When they were very young, the sound of her screams had been strangely reassuring because then they were mixed too with her angry words and cursing and Dad was occasionally the one who limped away from battle. When that happened, life could get good. Mum would sometimes defiantly spend all her meagre wages from her part-time cleaning job in Yabbie Creek before Dad took any of it, which meant Kane and Scotty got treats like lollies or new shoes though there was one time - it was just before a major fruitcake period - she came home and gave them both each a copy of the Australian Financial Review.

But after a while, after Diane Phillips had begun buying herself a bottle or two of plonk a night to spite her husband going out without her, after she had begun skipping meals though she insisted Kane and Scott still sat down and ate theirs, after she had lost her job in Yabbie Creek and flushed the pills the doctor had prescribed down the loo, there was a change, so subtle that at first they barely noticed.

They were used to seeing her with black eyes and bruises, used to times when she would sit motionless locked in a world of her own or when she got so drunk she passed out on the floor. One time she placed lumps of coal on every window-sill and behind every door in the house. Nobody ever found out why and nobody ever bothered to ask. Diane Phillips just sometimes _did_ strange things, like standing in the middle of the kitchen screaming (high pitched, monotone, fruitcake screaming, you got to tell the difference) and smashing plates against the wall. The coal, well, Scotty and Kane simply went round collecting it, though, instead of putting it back in the coal cupboard, where it had lain undisturbed since before the central heating was installed, they carried it in an old, dented tin bucket down to Alf Stewart's closed-up-for-the-day-owner-gone-fishing Diner, broke in, scattered coal and coal dust all over the tables, chairs and counter, and then, stoked as they looked round at all their hard work, scarpered fast.

But when her screams first came to be screams of fear, neither Kane nor Scotty knew. It happened. And then it always was. Exactly when their once well-groomed, beautiful mother first became shadow-like and dowdy, neither of them would have been able to tell you. She gave up and nobody remembered when or how and, in truth, nobody thought too much about it. And, after a while, the family settled into a nice little routine.

Dad came home blotto. Mum got bashed and screamed. If Mum didn't scream when Dad got home blotto, they'd have all thought she was dead. Sometimes Kane got out of Dad's way before he too got bashed, sometimes he didn't. Scott rarely got bashed because, as well as being Richie's favourite, he was usually too quick - though he was prone to the occasional kick or punch.

It was the natural order of things. The world turned and the tide ebbed and flowed, rain quenched the flowers' thirst and morning mist shrouded the mountains, the sun shone by day and the stars twinkled by night. And Mum got beaten. The simple law of the universe.

But this screaming was different.

Echoing all round the old house, ringing off walls, rattling windows, shuddering doors. The banging and crashing, Dad's furious cussing, the names he called his wife, all paled into insignificance against the screams. Bleak, agonising despair tore through their soul, abject terror touched someplace far beyond terror, an almost tangible evil first seeped, then crept, then flooded into the night and made the air heavy with its presence.

Kane tried to shut the screaming out with clenched fists against his ears and the pillow and duvet over his head but the screaming refused to be shut out. Scott sat up in bed, listening. They both stayed fully dressed although Kane was still soaking wet from the sea. Neither of them slept. Neither of them spoke. They must have breathed, but neither of them remembered breathing.

Some time between the moon skulking behind a mass of clouds and the sun finding it far too early to rise, some time when scurrying rats pierced the air with loud squeaks and the world was at its darkest, the screaming finally stopped.

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The blood poured copiously down Ron Wilson's face. He stumbled to his feet and he tried to grab Jamie once more, but Scott was too quick. Grinning, he slashed the knife into the older man's arm, tearing his skin like a ribbon.

"Try that again, matey, and I won't just cut ya next time!"

But Ron was determined. He had come this far. Nothing and no one was going to stop him from getting the child. He had made a promise. A promise that couldn't be broken now. It was his last chance. He made another dive at Scott, who laughed and stepped backwards.

And that was the moment Ron fell.

Suddenly, just when it seemed Jamie was within his grasp, just when he almost touched him, just when it seemed the drink had finally caught up with Scott and he was tiring. A fraction of a second sooner and he might have got Jamie away from him. A fraction of a second later and he might have kept his footing. But sometimes a fraction of a second is the difference between life and death.

And Devil's Leap was waiting to claim another victim.


	25. Chapter 25

**chapter 25**

Sweating and gasping for air, Kane fought his way with great difficulty (it was wrapped so very tight he thought he might have to stay there forever) out of the tunnel he'd created for himself with the duvet and pillow. Through the shaft of moonlight stealing in through the thin, badly-fitted curtains, he and Scotty eyeballed each other across the cold, sparsely furnished bedroom. Listening closely. This time not for the screams, but for the slightest sound to suggest Dad might be waiting. A creak or a drunken groan or the click of a cigarette lighter. Anything that might give him away.

They were wise now to their father's warped sense of humour. Nights when, bellies aching with hunger, they'd creep down to hunt for food, not having had anything to eat since school, maybe not even since brekkie, because Dad had told them to ---- off to bed as soon as they'd got in, and Mum was either too blotto or too bashed or too far away with the pixies to help. And then, suddenly, just when they thought it was safe and were relaxing enough to make jam sangers or even boil a couple of eggs, he'd spring out from where he'd hidden purposely to catch them, and, laughing, wildly lash out with his belt.

And so, alert, as they had learnt to be, the two kids strained their ears, wary of the quiet. Mum always, always followed up her screams with anguished sobs and wails that were enough to rip out the heart. Yet this time nothing. It might mean that Dad had left. Or it might be one of his tricks. Richie "Gus" Phillips could have terrorised her into silence, waiting for his kids to come down just so he could beat them. So they matched their foe in stealth and played a tense waiting game in the eerie stillness of the pale early morning light till Scotty indicated, with the briefest nod of his head, it was time to make their move.

Even then they were ultra cautious, barely making a sound. The mouse scurrying past the wainscoting paused only once, thinking it may have caught a noise, and the black mass of cockroaches, fat and feasted, crawling on the dry patches of floor not yet reached by the tide of soapy water, swarmed confidently inside, sure they would remain undisturbed.

Quiet as shadows, Kane and Scott slowly made their way down the stairs, sidestepping places they knew creaked and expertly dodging the tangled, loose threads of the old, worn carpet. The door of the kitchen was ajar, just as they'd left it, but all was in darkness so they hesitated again, holding their breath, listening out. A familiar sound, like rippling water. Probably only the cockies. Scotty decided they'd waited long enough and clicked on the torch. Sure enough, startled cockroaches hurriedly swept outside or ran for cover behind furniture or down through the cracks in the floorboards.

But the greyish beam of light from the torch gave few clues to what had happened.

A small breeze ruffled a few forgotten petals and a bundle of bloodied, ragged clothes left dumped in a corner had begun to float a little in the night's sea of blood and soapsuds. And the broom and bucket had been badly hurt in a savage attack. The broom had been pushed to one side and still lay where it had helplessly fallen, in the gap between the washing machine and cooker, while the bucket had been rolled on to its side and had spewed out its soapy contents in terror. The wide open outer door indicated someone had left hurriedly. But there was no sign of either of their parents.

Despite the breath of air from the open door, the odour of grog, tobacco and marijuana blended with the perfume of flowers and scent of disinfectant and made everywhere smell sickly. Whether it was this stench or the terrifying torch-beam-glimpses of walls splashed with blood, Kane didn't know, but his head pounded and he wondered if he was going to chuck up yet again that night.

Noticing the whiteness of his face, Scott impatiently kicked his brother. "Can it, for ----'s sake! I heard somethin'!"

Now that the cockroach army had fled and the kitchen noises been diluted into the humming fridge and the steadily dripping tap, the brothers were aware, for the first time, of a faint shuffling sound.

"Zombies!" Kane hissed in fear.

In the zombie movie, the undead had crept from behind, to drag the cleft-jawed hero down into the ancient burial ground where the millionaire property developer had foolishly, despite the wild-eyed psychic's warnings, insisted on building his luxury apartments, while Billy-Bob, the nice zombie who didn't want to be a zombie at all, had watched through the window, too late to help.

Fingers had been crawling up Kane's left arm for several seconds. Now they crossed his shoulder to reach his left cheek and through the bottom of his eyelid he glimpsed a large dark shape. With a yelp, the little boy knocked it away. A cockroach fell to the floor with a gentle clatter and would have scrambled to safety except Scott was faster and ground it to death under his heel. But silently. Scott could move quietly as a ghost when he chose to. Years of experience getting out of the way of the olds' blues had seen to that.

The shuffling came from the rags. Moving, not floating as they'd originally thought.

"Gotta be a rat!" Scotty declared, swiftly grabbing the broom, prepared to add to his tally of deaths. But then the rags made a strange kind of long, groaning sound. And the rags even tried to sit up although they failed miserably.

_"Jeeeeeeeezus!" _Scott said, freezing, staring at the bundle in shock. _"Sweet ------- Jeeeeezus!"_

The rags were human but a grossly deformed human. Its head flopped and both its arms must have been broken, for they lay at odd angles to the rest of the body, while the two knees, one with something bony and bloody poking through, were drawn up to where the chin would have been had all of the face had been visible. But so much of the face had been cut to pulp and veiled with blood-matted hair that only the two eyes - one so badly swollen that it stared sightlessly - gave any indication at all that under the pile of old clothes covering its bloodied flesh was a human being.

With a sob that racked through his whole body, Kane dropped down and, not knowing what else to do, tenderly smoothed back the bundle of rags' hair. Or what might have been hair. So much of what he touched seemed to be torn clothes and blood and bone and even bits of flesh that came apart in his hand. He wanted to hold the bundle, to reassure, but he was afraid that if he did the brittle bones might snap and crumble like dust, and he wondered if he should fetch water to try and instil life into the death-like pallor, but his presence seemed calming, and so, yelling, with odd logic, _Don't ya dare cark it or I'll ------- kill ya myself!_ in the end, he did nothing at all except stroke her hair, guilty watching as his large tears splashed down and added to the terrible mess of blood and bone that was his mother.

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Jade clutched the phone to her chest, small tears of relief coursing slowly down her cheeks. Shelley and Rhys, and the nurse who had brought in the hospital phone because mobiles weren't allowed, had left her in peace to make the call. It had been so good to hear Seb's voice again. He couldn't understand why she hadn't told him sooner. But he said he intended to catch the next flight out and travel down to Summer Bay immediately.

"But the basketball team," she said. "The final next week..."

There was a silence at the other end of the line and for a moment she wondered if he realised he had forgotten. Seb's voice was strained when he spoke again.

"Jade, I can't believe for a single second you think I'd put some stupid sporting event before you. Don't you know I love you?"

She cried then. All this time, all this worry, and he was there for her. He always would be. Everyone was. How could she ever have felt she didn't belong? She was still terrified of what was about to happen. But she would never be alone because she was surrounded by so much love - more even than most. Seb. Rhys and Shelley. The large de Groot family. Dani and Kirsty and the friends they'd grown up with. Little Jamie.

She remembered the last time she'd seen him, down on the beach, breaking into a run the moment he spotted her, grinning all over his face, yelling _Anniejade_ at the top of his voice, keen to bring her up to date with all the latest news from Summer Bay all at once.

"I got my Dad lollies for a birthday prezzie but I ate them and Mum said it's cos I'm very, very gen'rous, and Mrs Parker got a cat but not cos she's got mouses though she sells sugar mouses but the cat won't kill them so it's okay and I dropped ice cream down Katie Gibson's neck n'accidently when I was practisin' livin' upside-down and Mr Wilson said..."

Kane caught up with them then.

"Whoa, mate, catch a breath!" he'd said, laughing at his small son, and she'd laughed with him, thinking how strange it was she could talk to him easily now. Jamie was the reason for that.

Like all the family, she had totally lost her heart to the little boy. Small kids had no pre-conceived prejudices, no long-held grudges, no terms. They accepted people as they were. Kirsty had always thought that way too. And, while the Sutherlands had been busy trying to tear everyone apart, Kirsty had been busy turning around their hatred of Kane Phillips and joining them all together. _Links in the friendship bracelet._

Through the small window of the private ward, she gazed pensively out at the thin blue line of the sea and, in the distance across the water, the marked split in the cliffs that was the notorious Devil's Leap. The sky looked so different tonight. Crowded with stars and the stars shining brighter than they'd ever shone before. As if the storm had cleansed it and then washed the stars and hung each one out to dry. She smiled nostalgically.

The image, the words, that flashed into her mind came from a long ago memory. A story, one of many, that Dani would pluck from her vivid imagination when they were kids. And as she watched, a red glow suddenly lit up over the age-old cliffs like a spectacular ancient sunset. It looked so beautiful, Jade thought. Blissfully unaware.

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The explosion happened suddenly. One moment the two sisters were locked in an embrace, the next there was an almighty bang and some powerful force rocked them both off their feet. Coughing, her eyes streaming, the heat so intense that she could feel and smell burning flesh, Kirsty dazedly lifted her head.

Across the treetops she could just about glimpse the upper part of her home, where a thick fog of black smoke poured through blackened shells that had once been windows and large red flames shot furiously upwards, as if they would never stop till they touched the sky. Fighting to blink back the smoke that stung her eyes, she looked frantically round for Dani. And then at last she saw her.

White and still as death, lying crumpled on the grass.


	26. Chapter 26

**chapter 26**

Rays of moonlight fell silently on the whispering leaves and a glimmer of clarity somehow managed to penetrate the alcohol-induced fog of Richie's brain. He had to do something. Couldn't just leave her there like that. Jeez, the cops would be on to him so fast! But what the ---- was he to do? _Think, man, think. Time ain't on your side, Rich, nobody's on your -------side..._

Beads of sweat trickled through every pore of his being. His own rasping breaths sounded like they came from far away. He wiped a sweaty hand across his forehead, circling and pacing and breathing hard like some savage beast stalked by hunters. _And if you try to run, mate, the other blokes, they'll find ya like they found Old Jack..._

He kicked at a handful of discarded used syringes. A century ago, in the days of the Hill Houses, as they were nicknamed then, Summerhill residents would often admire panoramic views from their beautiful gardens while listening to the lullaby of the sea, but, in more modern times, junkies found the Hell Houses, as the mostly derelict buildings had become known, perfect isolated places in which to shoot up. For the houses had changed greatly in over a hundred years.

The soothing ripples of piano music that once floated out from open windows on balmy summer evenings had faded forever into a distant past and wailing police sirens now jarred the gentle rhythm of the lapping sea and sighing wind.

Where roses and hyacinths once fragranced the air, the creatures of the night crawled and slithered over mounds of stinking garbo, insects and predators swarming busily about the decaying food in a forest of grass and weeds. A lizard caught something in its long tongue; maggots fed and grew fat on the carcase of a small bird that had broken a wing and lain down that day to die, alone and pitifully, while from under the garden shed a rat watched all through quick, darting eyes.

The branches on the trees began to shudder and loudly shushed each other. Out on the ocean, the cold wind turned abruptly and swept determinedly on towards the coast. Sometimes in its wake it would bring the notorious sudden storms to the pretty picture-postcard seaside towns like Summer Bay and Settler Point, but to Summerhill, too high to touch, it brought only the iciness of its heart.

Richie cursed as a bitter wind tore round him, sinking its sharp teeth into his bones though the sweat of fear burned through him like a fever. He'd never been so afraid in his life, so terrified of being found out, as he was now.

Like he had done many times before, he had raped and beaten his wife. But never before had he come so close to murdering her. And he had to protect himself. Form a plan. Cover his tracks more carefully, more minutely, than he'd ever needed to cover them before. His mind raced in desperation. He could afford to leave nothing to chance.

He had driven the truck straight over to Mick's tonight, knowing the blokes would help, knowing, like always, they would cover for each other, play dumb when the cops asked questions. It was the code they lived by and favours could be called in at a moment's notice. Sometimes Richie might be told to bash someone or help out in some heist, sometimes he needed cash or, like he had tonight, might require a permanent solution to a major problem.

Yet he knew the same men who'd been more than willing to help him dispose of his wife's lover wouldn't bat an eyelid at killing him.

They were hardened crims, rough, violent men, but many knew what it was to be behind bars and have wives and girlfriends on the outside. Rapists were looked on as the scum of the earth. Richie had been there the day they strung up Old Jack. He had delivered some of the blows and provided the lighter that torched him, laughed along with the others when Jack swore that he'd never touch another woman and begged them yet again, just before he died, so slowly, so painfully, to let him go.

All the while in dread of someone discovering his own dark secret.

For, although the residents of Summerhill knew him to be a heavy drinker and occasional drug user, a small-time crim who'd been in the slammer for a variety of offences, that was nothing unusual in this bleak, rundown town of high unemployment and despair, and Richie "Gus" Phillips was well liked.

Not even the rumour he was a murderer diminished his popularity. It was widely believed that he'd killed the man in the bar, but no witness ever came forward and the victim, a weaselly drugs dealer and loan shark with dozens of enemies, was unmourned. Richie may have been a workshy drunk, but, handsome and charismatic, he had the townsfolk's sympathy too.

He'd been unlucky, they said, growing up in a dysfunctional family, losing his only brother so young, never getting the breaks in life. They knew his wife was away with the pixies and they felt for him, it couldn't have been easy, caring for her and their two wild little boys who already had quite a reputation in the district. And no one ever knew because closed curtains can hide so much and no one ever saw the scars.

Richie cupped his hands round the stub of one cigarette to light yet another, deeply inhaling the nicotine, glad to feel the warmth on his fingertips momentarily kill the chill of the night air. But at least the cold wind was helping clear his head and he was thinking more clearly. A plan was coming together.

Summerhill was far too small a town for him to shoot through. His truck was instantly recognisable. At any rate, by the time he reached the bus station or drove to Yabbie Creek's train station, the alarm might already have been raised and, even if it hadn't, the blood on his face and clothes would immediately arouse suspicion. No, there was only one way out of this.

He had to hope the stupid b---- hadn't carked it. While she recovered, he would concoct some convincing story about her madness. And when - and if - she did eventually venture out and any trace of the injuries remained, he would claim she had inflicted them on herself, that he had even tried to stop her. It was the way they had always got by. She would never talk because she was terrified of what he would do to the brats. But maybe, to make sure, he needed to terrorize his family some more...

Shivering with cold now, he looked back at the house and with a start saw a beam of torchlight. Now his head was clearing, he vaguely remembered he had thrown clothes from his wife's strewn suitcase on top of her and flicked off the light switch, in his drunken state imagining that, if he hid the evidence, the evidence might simply disappear. The light shining could mean only one thing. The ------- kids were stickybeaking and if he didn't get there fast they might even be stupid enough to get an ambo! With purpose now, he strode hurriedly back.

All night, all through the wee small hours, ever since he'd plunged the knife into the stranger, the dream-like quality of the speeding train had been thundering through Kane's head, and now, for some unfathomable reason, the floor was moving beneath him. It took a moment or two to register that he was being physically dragged away.

"Dad's on his way back!" Scott warned, in the scuffle to keep Kane upright.

"I don't ------- care, Scotty, I'm not leavin' her, not this time!"

He shrugged off his brother's hold and dropped back down to his mother's side. It was the first time he'd ever ignored Scott's prompting to save himself and leave Mum to it. And disobeying Scotty was never a wise move. But someone had to stay with her. _Someone_ had to care. He was powerless to stop the beatings, but he had to let her know she wasn't all alone in the world.

Scotty hesitated for only a second. Why did he bother? Kane always would be a ------- sook. Never would learn the golden rule: look after yourself because nobody else will. Never would understand you had to take exactly what you wanted in this life. And _survive_. Sooks got trodden on. Scotty had no intention of hanging around to prove or disprove the theory. He'd wasted enough time on his kid brother already.

"Get bashed then, jerk!" He hissed, and left him to his fate.

And now Dad was heading straight for him. But Kane wasn't gonna run, he wasn't! He jumped up, prepared to do battle with his father.

"Leave her, leave her!" He screamed furiously, his small hands trying desperately to push back the great hulk of a man.

There was a swishing noise and something with the force of a tank collided with the little boy, turning his life into a spinning red vortex. It was the last thing he remembered before the darkness.

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So many secrets that night were kept. So many secrets buried for years.

The truck was cleaned. A large rug was spread over the kitchen floor to cover the bloodstains. And the kitchen was painted. Screaming red walls, deathly black doors. Richie himself did that.

Not very well, there were often haphazard streaks, and, at the very top of the door, where yet more spots of blood had hit (Kane wondered why, at school, they did sums about how much would buy how many and how long it took someone to walk someplace, and never sums about how far showers of blood could fly) the paint had run so badly it resembled a row of upside-down mountain peaks. But the decorating served its purpose and the blood was hidden. Well, most of it. Specks of blood on the furniture were probably too minute to be noticed and, if they ever were noticed, could easily be dismissed as splashes of paint.

As it turned out, none of these elaborate precautions were necessary. Apart from police visits (always in twos and always at the front door (it never occurring to the officers what heinous crimes might be revealed if only they'd thought of using the back entrance) the only regular callers to the Phillips' home were alkos and addicts, inevitably too drunk, too drugged or too desperate to take in any scenery.

Of course there was always the possibility that Rose, Joe Phillips' widow, might call in on the family unexpectedly but this was extremely unlikely. She knew how much Richie disliked her.

And, amazingly, the luck of the devil proved to be on Richie's side yet again. His sister-in-law's health had never been good since the car crash, and she suffered the first of several strokes that were to eventually leave her housebound and with her speech seriously impaired. Even phone calls were now out of the question.

Afterwards, Diane Phillips walked with a permanent limp and never regained the sight in one eye. Her mental health deteriorated rapidly and irretrievably. She shopped, she cooked, she cleaned, and she did everything as before. But what little spark of life that was left in her had burnt out and gone forever. Her mind was dead.

The times when she locked herself in a world of her own became more and more frequent. She took to wearing gaudy clothes and make-up, and sometimes she would wake suddenly, and slip from her bed, dressing like some grotesque parody of a clown, her clothes too bright, her make-up too thick, to roam the streets and scream abuse at male passers-by. Neighbours often brought her back. Summerhill was a place where nobody trusted the likes of doctors or social workers so doctors and social workers were never called.

Richie invented a tale, of how his wife had attempted suicide, of how brokenhearted he'd been when he walked in as she threw herself down the stairs. That he thought he'd calmed her and had made the terrible mistake of leaving her alone for just one minute while he went to fetch a bowl of water to bathe her injuries and she'd found some scissors and begun hacking at her own hair and face. He always managed to squeeze out tears when he told his story, and listeners sympathetically patted his shoulder, gave him smokes or a few dollars, bought him drinks, often in tears themselves.

Now Scotty was the one worried Richie most. Diane would say nothing, partly through fear of what he would do to the kids, but mainly because her mind was too far gone. Kane could easily be terrorized into silence by the threat to dob him in as a killer and, at barely seven years old, was too young to realise exactly what had happened. But Scotty was far from innocent and not so easily intimidated. Richie had to work quickly to get him onside.

And so they made a deal, that very same night, while Diane Phillips lay sleeping fitfully and little Kane was out cold. Regular pocket money, regular smokes, the freedom to drink lager or cider whenever he wanted. All he had to do was keep his mouth zipped about everything that had happened and make sure no one ever got to hear about it. They even shook hands. Richie was surprised by how easily his eldest son was won over. But Scotty had his own reasons for not wanting the cops stickybeaking. Scotty had a fortune stashed away and a date with destiny.

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The first thing Kane saw, just behind Scott's head, when he recovered consciousness, his face still smarting painfully from the sting of Dad's fist, was the red arch that had been made by Scotty where he'd struck the match against the kitchen wall.

For some strange reason, the sun was streaming brightly in through the window though it was the middle of the night and he needed to screw up his eyes to focus his vision. Using the wall as a backrest, Scotty had pulled up a pillow, planted it in the middle of the blood and glass, and was sitting beside him, waiting for him to wake.

" ------- jerk!" He muttered, shaking his head.

Kane didn't know why he was a ------- jerk this time and he didn't bother to ask. Scotty always had heaps of reasons. He sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"Where's Mum? Is she okay?"

"Bashed real bad. But at least she's alive."

Something in Scotty's voice warned him it was a touchy subject and it would be wise not to proceed further with it so Kane changed tack, picking up on the fact they needed to whisper.

"What happened to the moon?"

"The moon...?"

"It's gone, Scotty!" Kane said importantly, astounded that his brother hadn't noticed.

"Jeezus!" Scott rolled his eyes. "It's mornin', ya stupid drongo. You been out for hours and ya talkin' ------- garbo. Which is why I gotta put ya thick head under the tap." As good as his word, Scott yanked him up and dragged him out to the ice cold water of the standpipe.

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Richie made it crystal clear that if any of them ever lagged about that night he would have no hesitation in killing them. So no one spoke of it again. Not a breath, nor a whisper.

The Phillips family carried on pretty much as usual. Richie still got blotto, beat his wife and continued a life of small-time crime. Diane still did the housework and still wrote Kane regular notes for school after his father had bashed him a little too badly for it not to be noticed. Scotty, now that he had a regular income and an understanding with his father, didn't need to demand money from the kids in school to buy food and other goodies anymore, but, hey, a hobby was a hobby.

The night might never have happened at all. In fact, Kane might have begun to believe it was all some terrible dream except there was a red curve on the wall where the match had been struck, and, missed by the haphazard painting, left like a vengeful curse to always remind him of his guilt. And the nightmares.

Night after night after night. He would wake screaming, sweating, shouting, with Scott yelling at him put a ------- sock in it and sometimes helping him along with a well aimed punch. But ghosts cannot be silenced forever.

And the ghosts were only biding their time.


	27. Chapter 27

**chapter 27**

Ron Wilson's anguished cries tore through the air, then his body abruptly hit the water, followed by rapid splashes as a torrent of small rocks fell in after him like a hailstorm. Clinging to the narrow ledge, Melanie gave one long, terrified, helpless scream as the debris rained past her.

And then there was an uneasy silence.

Jamie had exhausted himself trying to kick his way out of Scott's firm grasp by the scruff of his neck. Scott was unnaturally quiet, the shock of seeing Ron fall sobering him up fast. Stunned, angry with himself that there was nothing at all he could do, Kane looked silently down at the narrow gap of the treacherous Devil's Leap, where the underwater rocks would have quickly cut the man to pieces.

But, to the sea, it was just another life extinguished, in the thousands and thousands of years that tides had ebbed and flowed and waves had tossed great ships like matchsticks and sharks and piranhas had prowled deep oceans. And Ron's death meant nothing to the sea, so the sea swirled for a few brief seconds around the small pool of blood floating up to its surface, and then it moved on.

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There was no sound from the caravan. Jenny Turner knocked several times, baffled. Maybe Colleen had fallen asleep although she was adamant that she wouldn't sleep a wink until she heard how Jade was. And now they had news of Jade - Shelley had phoned a short while ago - but Colleen wasn't answering.

"Got it!"

Jenny turned round to see her husband, who'd gone back to fetch the skeleton key.

"Maybe we shouldn't disturb her after all," she said doubtfully. "She must be in a real deep sleep not to have heard us."

Mike grinned. "You want to be on the receiving end of Colleen Smart's wrath tomorrow morning when she finds out we heard from Shell and didn't tell her? And if she's nodded off in the chair and wakes with a stiff neck, she'll be ten times worse!"

And so it was the Turners, left in charge of the caravan site while the Sutherlands took Jade to hospital, who found Colleen. At first Jenny thought the old lady was simply asleep. She looked so happy and peaceful, as though all her dreams were good ones. And they had been.

Colleen's life had been, generally, a happy one and in her last few hours on earth she dreamed her life again. Weeks, months, even years flew by, condensed into seconds. She was the giggling little girl in the mirror brushing her golden curls and the smart kid raising her hand to answer the questions chalked on the board. She was the nervous teenager cringing with embarrassment as she spilled coffee on her very first date and the beautiful young woman gracefully collecting first prize in the beauty pageant. She was the blushing bride, taking deep breaths as she walked down the aisle, and the proud young mother taking her son and daughter to school. She was the cosy grandmother reading to contented grandchildren and the stalwart gossip of the Summer Bay Diner. Till, finally, she came to dream again of her very last night on earth.

The old familiar carriage clock ticking steadily on and the sudden flurry of rain hitting the caravan window as the wind changed direction. The tea-towel hung crookedly over the top of the cupboard door and the smell of scones that she'd baked that morning. The brief icy chill creeping in from some secret gap and the hairline crack in the last of the four blue-willow-patterned porcelain cups all neatly facing the same way on the hooks of the little wooden shelf. But most of all, last of all, she dreamed of Ron's kiss, warm and tender and sweet. And she smiled as she remembered.

Making Jenny smile too. It seemed a shame to wake her, but Mrs Smart had been so insistent. She whispered Colleen's name several times as she lightly stroked the old lady's wrinkled, still warm cheek.

And then she screamed in shock as Colleen suddenly slumped forward.

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Shards of glass cutting into her knees, Kirsty crawled towards Dani, reaching  
to cradle her head in her lap, tenderly wiping away the blood that trickled across her sister's forehead, weeping in overwhelming relief as Dani's eyes at last flickered open.

"Kirst...? What...what happened...?"

"The candles, I guess. We left the door wide open when we ran out. It must have been the wind."

"Can't...can't trust you bubs to do anything right, can I?"

They smiled through their tears, misty memories recalling old times, carefree times, when they were all kids and Dani had been the bossy one, always regarding the twins, being two years younger, as nothing more than babies.

"Hey," she added gently. " You're bleeding."

"So're you, Mrs Know-it-All," Kirsty countered in a tight, chocked voice, the nickname said in the same teasing, defiant way she had always used when they were small but tempered with affection now.

Dani spluttered with coughs. It hurt to cough, to even breathe, let alone speak but she was determined to. "Kirst. Kirsty, I have to tell you something. I didn't want...didn't want Kane to be blamed. He wasn't...wasn't even there but I knew they'd say he was the reason..."

"Hush. It doesn't matter, Dan, it doesn't matter..." Kirsty soothed, puzzled. Dani wasn't making any sense.

But, despite the tight band crushing her chest, Dani was determined to finish. "I...I posted a letter to Mark tonight, telling him everything. The reason...I...I was going to jump..."

_"Dani! No!" _Kirsty squeezed her sister's hand, heartbroken to think must have been going through Dani's mind, what she had been keeping to herself, to make her even contemplate suicide.

Dani swallowed and gasped desperately for breath. Her voice was weak now, her strength all gone, but Kirsty caught the words just before she passed out and she sobbed uncontrollably with grief that life could be so abjectly, so unbearably cruel, hugging Dani tightly to her.

"I was raped again," Dani had whispered.

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A loud bang echoed somewhere in the distance and across the cliff-tops the starry sky turned red and smoke-filled. However, recovered now from the shock of his enemy's death, the distant fire was of little interest to Scott.

His main concern, naturally enough, was to see if his old friend the leather rucksack was alright. What with all the rocks that had tumbled down, it could so easily have been knocked into the sea and Scott's herculean work tonight to collect his inheritance totally wasted. He closed his eyes for a second in dread before he chanced looking down and heaved a huge sigh of relief when he saw it again, knocked off its perch now and hanging precariously by one of its straps, but _safe_. Jeez, he could have flung its arms round it and kissed it!

"You little beauty!" He muttered emotionally, a lump in his throat.

Now all he had to do was figure out how the hell he was going to reach it. It would require careful thought, meticulous planning. He frowned in concentration.

But, after his breather, Jamie had got his second wind and began kicking, screaming and wriggling with renewed vigour in his efforts to break free. And Scotty wasn't quite sure what you were supposed to with kids.

You see, it was a long, long time since he'd been one himself.

Perhaps he'd never been one at all, he'd had to grow up so fast. One of the earliest memories was of sitting on the table, grinning at the camera for Uncle Joe, proudly holding on to his baby bro so that he didn't fall back, the soft warmth of Kane's head burrowing into his chest. He remembered the moment well because soon after it all kicked off again.

Almost immediately after his brother had been put back in his pram and the door slammed shut behind Uncle Joe and Auntie Rose, there were raised, angry voices. The bub's face crumpled and a small cry involuntarily escaped his lips. It wasn't much - Kane was learning fast - but it was enough.

" ------- whingin' brat!" Dad roared, and the thick, battered dictionary that the Phillips used as a door-stop came hurtling through the air, losing several of the "F" pages mid flight (_fortunately, the family already knew all the swear words by heart_) and landing only inches away from its intended target, who, terrorised now, began wailing in earnest.

Diane Phillips screamed and launched herself at her husband, and they staggered around the room together, Diane tugging at Richie's hair and clawing his face with long red nails, Richie, laughing, goading her, using one hand to defend himself and the other to push her further and further back.

Scott knew that, now and again, she emerged victorious from their regular battles by getting in a lucky punch, but he was also well aware that this rarely happened. Dad was heaps stronger and it was obvious to the little boy that his father's plan right now was to make sure she had no means of escape so that he could _really_ lay into her before turning his attention back to the rugrat. So Scott thought fast.

The bub's battered, old-fashioned pram, the manufacturer's name of "Go-Slo" emblazoned on its side in a now very much tarnished silver badge, was a great many years old when it was finally dumped on the garbo tip, from which it had been retrieved by the Phillips to be used first for Scott and later Kane. The pram was exceptionally large, for it belonged, and was built for, a more idealistic era, designed so that mother and baby could face each other when out for their slow, gentle, civilized strolls.

It was probably this unhurriedness that had given the pram its longevity, for over a great many decades and despite the rapidly increasing pace of more modern times, its various owners had, perhaps nostalgically or perhaps because the pram was exceptionally heavy, always chosen to push their offspring in the same leisurely way that yesterday's parents could better afford.

Little Scott's head barely reached its lofty heights and Kane abruptly stopped crying and sucked in a shuddering breath, startled, as a hand reached up from nowhere and rammed a dummy into his mouth. Then, to his further astonishment, in the space of seconds, the brake was released, the heavy "Go-Slo" pram jerked, and two arms, two eyes and a tuft of hair whizzed him away so rapidly that the world passed by in a fleeting blur of colours.

Scott couldn't remember too much after that. He couldn't recall exactly where he'd wheeled the pram to, only that they got far away from Dad before, exhausted, his arms feeling like they were about to drop off, he had to stop for breath, with his kid bro chewing on the dummy for all he was worth. Whatever happened, Kane knew, they were in it together.

The pattern was set in stone. It was Scott who picked up the bottle and finished the feed when Diane Phillips had been drinking or forgot her medication and slipped into one of her trances, Scott who crept into the room when Richie was blotto or Mum and Dad were fighting, to grab Kane and drag him out of the way till the olds calmed down. As soon as he could walk, albeit unsteadily, Kane, toddling like a miniature drunk, having figured Scotty was a far safer bet than either of his parents, took to stalking his older brother wherever he went.

And, flattered though he was by the hero worship, Scotty quickly realised it caused heaps of problems. It was a tough bloody world and nobody got nowhere by being sooky. So Scott embarked on a toughening up regime and he never looked back.  
After he got over the initial shock of the first few times his older brother slapped him round some, it finally dawned on Kane to fight back. Not that he was ever likely to win, Scotty was heaps bigger and heaps stronger. But, to Scott's satisfaction, his kid bro learned some valuable lessons about life. Trust no one. Use fists first, ask questions later. Never show any weakness. It was the way Scott himself operated and there was no room for sentiment or tears in the world of Scott Augustus Phillips.

So, kids being alien to him, Scott wasn't sure what to do with his nephew. Till he had a brainwave.

He'd noticed that when anklebiters whined, their olds often stuffed them with lollies and chockie to shut them up and the whining would stop miraculously. Scotty flung down the knife, reached into his pocket for a bar of chocolate, expertly ripped the wrapping off with his teeth and, to Kane's alarm, roughly slammed the whole bar into Jamie's mouth.

"Scotty! What the ---- are you doin' to my kid?"

"Feedin' it," Scotty shrugged.

Now the madman was trying to choke him to death! Jamie gagged and, to Scott's bewilderment, kicked and wriggled more than ever as he tried to force more chocolate down the kid's throat, convinced the chockie trick had to work eventually.

"For Chrissake, Scott, stop doin' that!"

"Look, we gotta talk before I shoot through with the dough and it won't quit yellin'!" Scott yelled impatiently, but giving up on the chockie. Maybe it only worked if anklebiters were hungry or something. "See, I told ya chick about ya killin' a guy."

Kane could only stare at him, an icy coldness gripping his heart. Knowing he'd lost Kirsty forever. Knowing his brother had cruelly torn away all his hopes and all his dreams. How could he ever hope for her to love him still, now she knew he had blood on his hands? He would still be a Dad to Jamie, he always would, but Jamie would be the only glimmer of light in the darkness. And, but for Jamie, his life would be as it was before Kirsty, an empty shell that never knew love.

"But we had a deal! We _swore_ on it, Scott, we _swore_ on it! Blood brothers."

Scott smirked. "Yeh, well, maybe there's somethin' you should know...


	28. Chapter 28

**chapter 28**

"Like what?"

Kane had finally breathed again when Scotty suddenly dropped his nephew to the ground. Whatever his brother was planning now, it obviously didn't involve Jamie. And if there was any way out of this mess of losing Kirsty he needed to know about it, but Scott had paused without explanation.

"Like what?" Kane repeated. "Scotty, ya said there was somethin' I should know...?"

But Scott had decided the talking could wait. There were more important things. Like a rucksack that had begun sliding very slowly, almost teasingly, further down the rock, as though it had been mulling over its miserable existence of being buried alive for all those years and was wondering if plunging itself into a watery grave was preferable to the possibility of it ever happening again.

So Scott figured he had to take a chance and put the brat down. He needed two hands for this delicate rescue operation and anyhows the kid didn't look like he was in any fit state to go anyplace any time soon. Ignoring Kane's question, he dumped Jamie without ceremony, and, picking up the knife in his place, now fell to his stomach and crawled stealthily to the edge of the cliff.

It was only Melanie's sudden sob as she caught a breath in silent tears that abruptly reminded them both she was there.

"You better pull her up," Kane suggested.

_"Ssshhhhh!"_ Scott hissed impatiently, to both, as Melanie gulped back another sob. _Jeeeeezzz, _didn't folk have no consideration for others no more? He needed complete silence, total concentration.

He reached down, trying to hook the strap with the knife, and cursed as the extra length still didn't help him connect, the rucksack remaining tantalisingly just out of his reach. So he tried again. And again. And again. And yet _again_. It was hopeless. And dangerous! More and more tiny rock chippings fell each time he swished the knife. He was either going to knock the bloody thing into the sea or fall in himself.

Then a miracle happened. The rucksack abruptly picked itself up off the rock and raised itself towards Scotty. And then the rucksack spoke!

"For ----s sake, here, take it, it's all you ------- seem to care about, and if I'm gonna cark it I'd rather cark it without ------- grit in my eyes!" It sobbed angrily, sounding like it was spitting bits of dirt out of its mouth.

It hadn't been a good idea to stand up on the crumbing ledge, but she just didn't care anymore. Somehow she hadn't slipped when she had given the stash to Scott, but it could only be a matter of time. Melanie, trembling, leaned back against the cliff face, and waited to die.

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"Dani! Dani! Dani, wake up! Dani, wake up! Dani, wake up, _please!"_

Kirsty tried desperately to rouse her, remembering that once, a long, long time ago, she had done and said exactly the same to Kane.

And she couldn't help wondering if fate was laughing at her now. If this terrible irony was to be her punishment. Because, no matter how many mediation sessions, how sorry he was, the fact remained that Kane had raped Dani and Kirsty had chosen Kane over her sister.

"Dani, we're going to get through this. We're _Cool Chicks_, remember? You said you, me and Jade would always stay together. You made us believe it, Dani, you made us believe it!"

_'Course, the three of us will always stay together and we'll be rich and famous one day," Dani said confidently. _

She eyed with frustration the baby doll, almost as tall as Jade herself, that her little sister kept insisting was too tired/too thirsty/too upset to play anymore, and the reason she kept breaking off from the dance routine as, according to Jade, Abby needed a rest/bottle/cuddle.

"_But not with a DOLL," Dani added. _

"Abby is NOT a doll!" Jade declared stoutly, clenched fists resting on her hips. It took a lot to rile the normally placid four-year-old, but insulting Abby was the one exception. Insulting Abby was a red rag to a bull.

"Well, what IS she then?" Dani sighed.

They were never going to get the dance moves or the song sorted out at this rate. Kirsty had got bored a while back and begun doing handstands on the wall and now Jade was playing up. And it wasn't fair! Dani had been hoping Cool Chicks, the girl band she'd started with the twins, would cut a record deal before she was seven.

"Abby is MY OTHER TWIN," Jade said importantly

"That'd make us twiglets!" Kirsty shouted down from the wall.

"We're twiglets!" Jade agreed, nodding emphatically.

"Don't be silly, sweetie! Twiglets are what Mrs Parker sells in Ye Olde Summer Bay Lolly Shoppe," Dani explained loftily. "I've seen them. They're in little packets."

Jade looked alarmed. "But I don't want to be put in a little packet and sold in Mrs Parker's Lolly Shoppe!"

"No, Jade," Dani said patiently, "That's what happens to TWIGLETS."

"But I don't want to be! I don't want to be put in a little packet!" Small, worried tears began coursing down Jade's cheeks and she clutched Abby tighter to her chest.

"You are so mean, Dani Sutherland!" Kirsty said hotly, jumping down from the wall with a thud to put her arm round her twin. "Take no notice, Jade. Twiglets don't get sold in Mrs Parker's Lolly Shoppe. Twiglets go to school and get Chrissy presents and have Mums and Dads and everything. They DON'T get put in little packets, Mrs Know-it-All!" She glared at Dani.

"They do so!"

But Dani's voice lacked conviction now. She knew she was right, but she hated upsetting her little sisters. They were only bubs, after all, too young to understand anything, unlike Dani who, being two years older, probably knew everything there was to know in the world. So she took a breath and lied.

"Okay! Okay. I'm sorry, Jade. Twiglets don't get put in little packets and sold. I was having a lend of you. Cool Chicks?"

She bit her lip as she raised her outstretched palm, waiting and hoping for the twins to acknowledge their usual high fives like the three of them often did after a blue.

Kirsty was always quick to anger and quick to forgive. Besides, reassured by Kirsty, and now Dani, Jade was bravely trying to smile, hiccuping back tears.

"Cool Chicks!" Kirsty said readily, high fiving Dani in return.

"Cool Chooks!" Jade said, following Kirsty's lead as always, but getting the name wrong as usual. "Can Abby stay with us when we're rich and famous?"

"Sure. The three of us - and Abby - we can do anything!" Dani said, smiling at Jade's eager face streaked with dried tears. "And we'll always stay together. Promise!"

"Dani! Dani, don't die! Dani, you can't die!"

Kirsty's tremulous voice was so lonely that isolated night as she held her sister in her arms with the fire raging all around them.

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Jade suddenly felt unaccountably sad. One moment she had been thinking of all that was good in her life. Then the dark mood swept inexplicably over. Instead of pressing the bed-side buzzer when she'd finished the private phone call, like she'd told Rhys and Shelley she would, she pushed back the crisp white hospital sheet and made her way to the window.

She somehow knew it was something out there, something in the distance. She gazed thoughtfully at the blue line of the sea, at the beautiful red sky on the horizon, listening to the clock on the hospital wall ticking loudly as if it were a heartbeat that counted down the years.

Last night she had dreamt she was very young and still at school and the de Groots had unexpectedly turned up to collect little Laura from the classroom.

_"We thought you were our daughter but it was all a terrible, terrible mistake!" They told Jade. "You're Kirsty's real twin and Dani's real sister and you always will be." _

And she and Kirsty and Dani had laughed in delight and high-fived each other, stoked to know they would be together forever.

It would be so easy if they were kids again, Jade thought, turning the woollen friendship bracelet round her wrist. Oh, so easy, if they could only turn back time and start all over again.

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The last thing Melanie expected was for Scott to reach down again. She had accepted her fate with a strange calm resignation now. Death could only come as a welcome relief to this terror of watching the hungry waves swirling below. There was nothing left to live for.

But the instinct for survival was stronger than she thought and when Scott reached down again, she reached up to tightly grasp his hand and, his girlfriend weighing little more than his nephew, Scotty was able to yank her easily into the air.

She had no idea why he had decided to pull her to safety. Or maybe she did.

They exchanged a look as she landed and the look spoke a thousand words. But Melanie said nothing as she breathlessly snatched up Jamie to carry him up on to safer, higher ground and, her legs too shaky to support her for long after her ordeal, she sank back into a smoother part of the cold, grey cliff top.

Scotty, for his part, only cursed absent-mindedly as he almost stumbled back over his nephew (looked like his theory that kids were strange whining little creatures whose sole purpose in life was tripping adults up was still holding good) till Melanie moved Jamie out of the way.

Kane watched cautiously, his brother's uncharacteristic behaviour baffling him. Something was going on, some secret that Scott and Melanie shared, but he couldn't work out what. And the main thing was Jamie was okay.

He longed to take Devil's Leap again and go to comfort his son, but all the recent activity had taken a heavy toll on the fragile cliffside and, on the exact spot where Scotty and Melanie had stood just a minute or two earlier, small rocks were rolling over the edge and down the precipice, dislodging yet more to join in the rush, like serial shoppers who, having just had news of some fantastic new bargain in the sales, were keen to check it out for themselves.

Besides Jamie was safe with Mel. He clung desperately to her and, exhausted and badly hurt, she sat holding him close, her arms and legs wrapped protectively around the little boy, resting her chin on his head, tears streaming down her blackened and bloodied face, gazing somewhere faraway.

"So ya wanted to talk...?" Kane shouted across the divide.

After the brief calm of the sea and the stillness of the sky, the waves had begun to thunder again and an angry red glow of firelight hid the stars. The distant fire had gained pace now and the smell and taste of smoke mixed with the saltiness of the fresh sea air.

Scott had jumped out of the way of the tumbling rocks and was busy strapping the rucksack on to his shoulders. He looked up and grinned.

"Your wife - Kirsty - she's ------- hot, mate! Pretty clued up chick too."

Kane eyed his brother with dislike. "Whatever ya gotta tell me, Scott, leave Kirsty out of it."

"Ah, but she's a big part of it. Maybe she's the reason. I dunno."

Scott looked down at the knife he'd retrieved before jumping out of the way of the falling rocks, but, to Kane's relief, didn't turn his attention back to Mel and Jamie.

"The reason...?" Even though Scott had got exactly what he came for, the danger wasn't over yet. Kane knew he had to be careful to keep him onside and keeping him talking was the best way. Like Richie, Scotty always did love the sound of his own voice.

"Reckoned I didn't have the Phillips killer instinct. Maybe she was right. _Maybe_. I could've killed the kid over and over...Ya know, thinkin' 'bout it, guess I still could..." Scott grinned and teasingly examined the knife, caked with old blood, coolly blew away some of its dirt.

"Scotty, whatever your issues with me, Jamie, Kirsty, Mel, they were never part of that..."

"So ya figure I came all the way up here to kill my neffie?" He turned the knife over and over in his hands, enjoying the power.

Kane swallowed. "You wanted to tell me somethin'?"

"Oh, yeh, rotten memory!" Scott opened his mouth like he was about to say something important, then slapped his forehead. "Nah! It' gone!" Aware it would annoy his kid brother, he began whistling through his teeth.

_"Scotty!"_

"Watch it, bro, ya'll send heaps more down!"

"For Chrissake, Scotty!"

"Jeez, impatient little b------, ain'cha? Always was, ever since ya was a rugrat." But Scott could afford to be generous now that the cherished diamonds were in his possession at last. He grinned. "Alright, alright! Remember the night ya killed a guy...?"

It was only a few seconds pause but it seemed like an eternity before he spoke again, the words echoing around the towering cliffs and carrying themselves out on the tumbling ocean. And the words themselves were so small, so insignificant, yet they carried a weight like a knock-out punch.

"_Well, ya didn't..."_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Don't know if Twiglets are on general sale in Australia, but for any Aussie readers who never heard of them, they're a kind of savoury snack, bit like crisps, but made with, I think, Marmite. Don't like them myself!


	29. Chapter 29

**chapter 29**

"Whadd'ya mean, I didn't kill him? I stabbed him, for Crissakes! There was blood everywhere!"

"Jeez! Use ya ------- head for once! If ya'd killed him, don't'cha think the knife would've had more than coupla spots of blood on it? It'd been ------- _drenched! _Ya barely scratched him, matey! Ya was shakin' so much ya could hardly hold _on_ to the knife, let alone use it. The old man did all the damage with the broken bottle."

"_Dad_ killed him?"

Scott rolled his eyes impatiently. "Do I have to spell it out for ya? He wasn't ------- dead, ya drongo, he didn't ------- die!"

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Scotty was swallowing huge breaths of relief when, as instructed by his father, he ran to open the heavy ornate gates that led to the Phillips drive.

It had been a massive gamble, suggesting to Dad that they made out Ma's boyfriend had carked it. Not the idea itself, of course. That was so ingenious and yet so simple that Richie couldn't help but be impressed. Anyone with their wits about them would have quickly seen that the supposed corpse, though badly hurt, was moving and breathing. But neither Kane nor his mother would see that.

Even the tiniest glitch in her day was often enough to send Diane Phillips over the edge and the shock had plunged her into another trance-like state. And Kane was already traumatised by what he'd seen and heard that night. One small push in the right direction was all that it would take...

...all that it took. Richie picked up on Scott's words immediately, grinning slowly at his eldest boy.

"We gotta get rid of _him_, Dad. We don't want no cops round here lookin' for _dead bodies!"_

Father and son united. One or two loaded remarks. A handful of gestures and glances. Oh, how easy it was.

A little bit of broken glass, a knife, a blood-spattered room and some people will believe anything you tell them.

It suited Richie to have his wife believe there was no one left to run away with to ensure she was trapped in his power forever. It suited Scott to have his kid bro believe himself a killer to ensure Kane never told anyone about the diamonds. Sweet as a nut.

Scott's concern hadn't been the idea itself. It was how his father might react to it.  
Nobody dared tell Richie "Gus" Phillips what to do and Scotty could've ended up with the bashing of his life for sticking his neck out like that. 'Course, things would've been easier had the guy on the floor been a tad more obliging and kindly carked it there and then. In fact, Scott had been half hoping Dad would finish the job. But it wasn't to be. Even Richie wasn't dill enough to kill a man in his own home. So Scotty had to content himself with the status quo. Which, all things considered, was probably for the best. He didn't want cops sniffing round here tonight any more than his Dad did.

Gritting his teeth, he pulled up the first rusty lock and ran with the heavy wrought iron gate to push it wide open, though it groaned in loud protest at the unwelcome intrusion into its quiet slumber.

The second gate was, as always, even more cantankerous than its twin. It took three attempts and a cut thumb before the lock finally yielded and, even then, the gate dragged itself along the ground, making a long, low, threatening growl, as though great age gave it a perfect right to be as awkward as it liked.

Scotty kicked it in revenge for its lack of co-operation but the kick was half-hearted. It was, after all, the only hiccup so far in his plans to stash the diamonds somewhere safe. He waited for his father to arrive with the truck, whistling a low, almost tuneful whistle, stoked that things had turned out so well.

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_To Kane's terror, the face-down corpse seemed to flex its hand, as if it heard his father's words and, sensing its killer was still in the room, was seeking him out to take revenge. But it was only his imagination. If you looked at a door handle long enough it would move, if you stared hard enough at a black dot it would begin to crawl as if it were a tiny insect. He couldn't afford to let his imagination run away with him anymore... _

"It wasn't my imagination!"

"What?" Scotty's attention had been momentarily distracted by a vague noise. If he hadn't known better, he'd have sworn he heard chopper blades.

"After I stabbed him - I saw the guy _moving!"_

"Well, bully for you, little bro! I figure we're quits now. I got the stash, you got the story. Ain't tellin' no one where me and the diamonds is headed so this is it, family reunion over, have a nice life!"

"Scott!"

"Jeez, what now?" Scotty spoke as if Kane were a kid again. Maybe, to Scotty, he always would be.

First time he'd clapped eyes on his younger brother, the olds had dumped him in the corner in Scott's old pram, where he lay, red-faced and screaming in discomfort, hot, hungry and thirsty, while his parents sat, drinking to the new bub's arrival, and totally ignoring him.

Scott crept across the room to peer curiously in at the tiny scrap and greet him warmly.

"G'day, ya ------- stupid whinger!"

The bub suddenly checked his scalding hot tears and...well, Ma said it was only wind as she swore and cuffed Scotty round the ears for shouting, and staggered drunkenly back with Kane in her arms, but Scotty _knew_ he was right and it _had_ been a smile!

And he realised there and then someone had to look out for the ------- wailing little b----r.

Toughen him up, keep him in his place, teach him how to lie, cheat and steal, shove him in central heating cupboards so's he wouldn't get the sh-t beat outta him, shut him up fast when he had nightmares before Dad bashed him for shouting about what happened that night. Jeez, the list of IOUs went on and on.

"Scotty, why the ---- didn't ya just _tell_ me? Why'd ya let me think I killed him?"

"What kind of fool d'ya take me for? Had to scare ya into keepin' ya mouth zipped, didn't I? That's why I took ya the graveyard, buried the knife, made ya think Dad'd only buy it if I said we chucked the knife in the sea. Couldn't chance ya laggin' 'bout the diamonds."

"But I'd_ never _have lagged! And you knew what it was like, all those years, the nightmares, almost every ------- night, the nightmares..."

Scott shrugged. No use crying over spilt milk. "Them's the breaks, bro."

"So why tell me now? After all this ------- time?"

"Dunno," Scotty lied.

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Kane was too young to understand but Scotty knew at once what had happened to his mother. He suspected it had been happening for a long time, but he was damned if he was gonna do anything about it or the bashings. Ma was too far gone to seek help, Dad was never going to dob himself in. Kane was just a little kid. But if Scott blabbed and the cops rocked up, then he could kiss goodbye to the diamonds and the diamonds were Scotty's future.

So, when Richie Phillips made his offer in exchange for his silence, Scott's silence had been bought. And bought cheaply. Pocket money, a handful of smokes, a few tinnies. Wasn't much to value to value a life at but, hey, a guy had to think of himself.

So Scott got exactly what he wanted and things should've been apples. But they weren't. There was one huge problem.

See, nobody told Scotty he had a conscience. Nobody warned him how the guilt would burn through him every time he saw his mother left in a bruised and bloody heap. But Scotty shut it all out of his mind and spent years working on being Richie Phillips' ideal son. And almost succeeding. Not even Kane saw through him. Nobody saw through him till Kirsty.

Why did she have to bring back memories?

_Like she knew. But that was impossible because nobody knew. Nobody knew Scotty had kept the pictures. Not that there were many. One of himself and Kane when they were very, very young, sitting on a table, Scott with his arms wrapped protectively round his baby bro so that he didn't fall back. _

And then there was Jamie. Why did he have to look so much like Kane when he was a kid?

_"You better not hurt my Mum!"_

_In the glow of candlelight Jamie's face contorted in terror as he picked up the knife and pointed the blade. The same knife, the same words Kane himself had used all those years ago._

_"Kane would never kill anyone. And I...I don't believe you would either."_

_  
There it was again. That flash of fearlessness in her eyes. What was it with this chick?_

How come she knew so much?

The time he'd held the Summer Bay doc and his wife and some wrinklie at gunpoint he had no intention of pressing the trigger. The time he'd ramraided the supermarket, his foot had been on the brake long, long before he screeched to a halt, a reflex action the second he realised he'd mow down the dude stupid enough to be working late if he didn't stop. And during the servo robbery, he could easily have shot dead the old guy, the gun was pointed straight at him, he was looking at Scotty with abject terror in his eyes, pinned to the spot by fear, but...

Jeez, what was the point when the high, the pumping adrenaline, was all in the danger of pulling some job and making the getaway?

Tasha now, when he'd bundled her in the boot of the car, the plan had been to scare her into keeping her mouth shut but he had to make her _think_ her days were numbered. Same with the kidnapping of Shauna Bradley. Scott was bloody expert at scaring people. Or thought he was. But Kane's wife, she just didn't scare. Didn't flinch, like she was supposed to, like everybody had always done before, when Scott played his favourite game of cat and mouse.

Had he still been alive, Richie would have been so disappointed at how his eldest son, the one he pinned all his hopes on, turned out. But for once in his life, out here on the cliffs, Scotty felt good about himself. Knew he'd done something right for a change. Maybe it made up for all those years of doing something wrong.

So many questions were in Kane's mind. But one more so than most.

"So this guy...If he didn't cark it, what the hell happened to him?"  
Scott guffawed. "You mean you ain't figured it yet? And I thought you was meant to be the one in the family with all the brains! He..."

And then suddenly it came again. The whirring sound of the chopper. Except this time it brought a crazy rush of wind and a flat moonlight shadow fell across the ocean like a giant bird about to swoop. The SES pilot circled one last time, needing to assess the second emergency situation that the towering flames of the nearby fire had originally alerted them to, so low that they could see his face at the 'copter window.

Jeeeeezusssss, Scotty realised, he had to shoot through with the diamonds while he still had the chance! Only one thing for it now. If he took Devil's Leap, it'd give him one helluva headstart...

Kane read his mind. Knew there was no way he could possibly make it, not now, not with the cliff edge so badly, so dangerously crumbled away.

_"SCOTTY, DONNNN'TTTT!!!"_

But Scott, always knowing better than his little brother, only laughed and jumped anyway, sure he could ace it. And he might have done. He really might have done. But at the very last moment, his heel catching, sliding, twisting. And then he was falling. Falling so near to the cliffs that the jagged edges took great offence at his close proximity and furiously ripped open the backpack on his shoulders.

**_"SCOTTYYY!!!! SCOTTTTYYYY!!! SCOTTTTTTYYYYYYYY!!!"_**

Kane's desperate, harrowing cries echoing round and round and round the towering grey cliffs as though they would echo there forever. Where the breeze was fresh and the moon high and the smell of smoke tainted the night air. Where the contents of the rucksack were scattering far and wide.

Some landing on the sea-bathed rocks, some floating or sinking in the silvery waters, some disappearing somewhere into the cliffs. Rings and necklaces, bracelets and ear-rings, necklaces and broaches, dazzling and thrilling in a myriad of beautiful colours.

Costume jewellery, cheap, shiny baubles, the occasional starlit flash of diamante. Oh, but not a diamond amongst them. Not one.

And the red tinge in the sky from the fire fading now so each star taking its turn to sparkle more brightly than the rest and the white-tipped waves rushing into each other and sighing

_...if only... if only...if only...if only..._

If only Scott had had the chance to look into the rucksack at least once since he grew up. If only Melanie had thought to check out the stash or Kane asked his brother exactly _why _no one ever asked about a missing fortune. If only _someone_ had known. That there were no diamonds. There never _had_ been any diamonds.

Because in the end, in the very, very end, one summer afternoon long ago two little boys stumbled upon some cheap jewellery ablaze with dancing colour and saw the world through the eyes of children.


	30. Chapter 30

**chapter 30**

"Waaall, I'll be...!"

Watching the two kids make off with the old leather rucksack, staggering under its weight, Danny King shook his head and smiled to himself. Maria, his six-year-old son#s au pair, had been frantic with worry when she realised one of her charges at the kids' party was missing, fearing he may have hurt himself.

"It was the leetle boy much - how you say? - desperate for the drink." Maria, unaware of the connotations, innocently described Kane's apparent request for _refresco de naranja_. Her thick black hair stood on end as she ran plump fingers through it yet again and her dark brown eyes were full of concern.

Her employer remembered well the "leetle boy" she was talking about because he had been very surprised by the appearance of the small kid carrying the party invitation card for one _Wills Bennett.  
_  
This kid's Mom and Dad were meant to be seriously rich, yet his sneakers were worn and dirty and his shorts and T-shirt, though brand new, looked like they'd been purchased from a five and dime. But Danny King's neighbors in the exclusive Australian suburb had told him that the Bennetts had only very recently come into their fortune, scooping the jackpot on the Lotto, and he figured maybe some folk, after a lifetime of scraping two cents together, would take a long, long while to get used to spending hundreds of thousands of dollars.

"Aw, no doubt he's helped himself to some candy and is hiding someplace. I'll go see if I can find him," Danny promised Maria.

But he hadn't expected to find, rather than eating candy, the kid had embarked on a life of crime. The American jeweller pulled back the drapes on the front upstairs window and watched in amusement as the two boys (the bigger kid looked so much like him he'd just gotta be a cousin or brother) ran down the path, their constant looking round sure making it obvious they had something to hide.

Goddamn thieving rascals, he thought indulgently. Reminded him of the days he and his own brother were kids and would do anything, legal or not, to make a fast buck, many years before they became the well-respected businessmen they were today, owning a hugely successful chain of jewellers. Danny grinned, idly wondering what the heck these enterprising kids intended to do with the costume jewellery they'd just snatched.

The loss of the rucksack and its contents was of no great consequence. Being a millionaire several times over, he could easily afford to replace them. No, what worried the joint head of King's Jewellery most was how he was going to tell Maria she'd lost the cheap display jewellery that he'd passed on to her after one of his stores moved premises. Sure, he could get her another lot - no problem - but he knew she'd earmarked several items to post home to her three adoring little sisters. As the two kids disappeared round the corner, Danny reluctantly dialled the Bennett kid's folks' number.

But two things happened that day that would set off the chain of events to our story.

The Bennetts answer-phone clicked into action as Danny King's call connected. And when they returned home from their latest, no-expense-spared holiday, a yawning, jet-lagged Mr Bennett accidentally deleted every single message on the answer-phone. To his surprise, Danny King's friendly, kids-will-be-kids message was never returned. Neither was the rucksack. But the millionaire jeweller was returning home to the States next day and had plenty other things on his mind.

The rucksack's fate of being buried alive in an old churchyard was sealed.

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Melanie cut a lonely figure in the side ward they'd had to place her in because the constant restlessness, kicking, screaming and other strange behaviour as she spiralled down off the smack both terrified and disturbed the other patients.

Placed on a methadone program and calmer now, she sat up in bed, her hair no longer greasy and a slight weight gain helping pad out her almost skeletal frame, but still looking pale and drawn. A glossy magazine, filled with another world of the rich and famous, was spread open before her, but Mel was staring into the distance, small, quiet tears trickling down her cheeks as a red evening sun, in one final defiant burst, cast her solitary shadow opposite on the cold white wall.

And then, after its brief last moment of glory and finally accepting its time was past, the sun began sinking slowly over the horizon.

Unless she pulled the cord on the reading lamp, the room would soon plunge into the falling gloom of the evening. Kane hesitated near the door and Mel, sensing she was no longer alone, thinking a nurse had come to check up on her and not wanting to talk, quickly lifted the magazine to her face, squinting at pictures and words that were already jumbling together in the thin grey light.

"Hey," he said gently.

They'd been through too much together to pretend. The magazine dropped from her trembling hands. Fresh tears glistened in her eyes. Maybe, Kane thought, there had been a time before the bashings, a time when she had truly loved Scott.

"I miss Scotty too." He bit his lip, not quite knowing what to say or do next, feeling clumsy and awkward. He longed to cry again for his brother, like last night he'd wept in Kirsty's arms. But in the echoes of memory his father was taunting him as a_ ------- girly sook_. It was still hard to show his emotions in front of anyone but his wife and son. Maybe his childhood would always haunt him no matter how many counselling sessions he had, how hard he tried to come to terms with it.  
So he took a deep breath and struggled to find the right words.

"We had totally different lives when we grew up, but he used to look out for me when we were kids, save me from Dad's belt and worse, and...well, he couldn't kill Jamie after all..."

"You don't understand," Mel whispered, sniffing and pressing fingertips against her eyelids to halt the flow of tears. "You just don't understand."

"He was my bro..."

"More than one person died that night," Mel said in a tight, choked voice. "What makes you think Scott's the one I'm crying for?"

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Melanie never forgot her fourteenth birthday. It was a Tuesday.

It was the day she found her mother's body.

Slumped on the bed soaked with blood that was still dripping down from the pretty pink-and-yellow flowered duvet, and, in, the puddle of blood on the floor, where it had finally slipped from her mother's hand, the razor blade she had gone out to buy that morning while her daughter was in school.

Melanie remembered wondering in a strange surreal kind of way how was it possible for someone to be dead when the scent of their perfume still trailed in the air, when a gentle, warm sunlight streamed in through the open window, when there was a distant hum of early afternoon traffic as people went about their usual business...and she remembered how her own harrowing, anguished cries pierced the silence of the quiet, sunlit room...

The elderly couple from next door, who'd dialled the emergency services when they'd heard Melanie's terrified screams, tried to utter soothing words as the ambos carried the corpse downstairs and the woman cop assigned to her case gently explained what would happen now and, as if she'd suddenly become simple, everyone, wanting to help, looked at her with enormous pity and spoke slowly in sympathetic, hushed tones. But no one _could_ help.

Melanie's only other relative had been her father, who had died several years ago, the reason her mother had uprooted them from their hometown in the first place, and who had walked out on his marriage, never to be seen again, when Mel was barely four years old. She was taken into care the same day her mother died. Yet again uprooted and taken far away from all that she knew. Until one day, like her father, she too walked out and never went back.

The third or fourth night on the streets - time had slipped into a blur of terror and struggle for survival - she'd met Jem. Jem was gay, a heroin addict with beautiful, soulful eyes, who loved to write long, rambling meaning-of-life poems, which didn't make any sense but which never failed to make her smile because he was so earnest about his writing. He was gentle and kind, watching out for her in those early days of sleeping rough, but it was with Jem, who was to die choking on his own vomit just five short weeks later, that she first tried smack.  
And, after that first heady shot, when she found that, till she came crashing down into the misery again, for a little while, she could forget the day she found her mother dead, Mel never looked back. She didn't want to. Not then.

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"I'm headed for Summer Bay," he said. "It's a sleepy little seaside town on the coast. You probably never heard of it."

"Nope. But sounds as good a place as any to head."

Mel shrugged and took another swig of beer. As if the name meant nothing to her. As if her heart hadn't suddenly lurched and begun pounding against her chest and her throat hadn't gone suddenly dry. Years of living rough, moving from place to place, had taught her well. No point in telling anyone anything. Let them do all the talking. That way you found out things. And they knew nothing about you.

"Look, ya wanna go somewhere more private to...uh...talk?" The guy who'd said his name was Scott added, grounding down his cigarette in the overflowing ash-tray. "I got a room in the boarding house over the way. Ain't much, but it's got a bed."

He had bought her a few beers and she'd been expecting favours demanded in return. Made a change that he hadn't demanded them immediately, but then he'd been different. Clean, not bad looking. Like the blokes who drank here at _Billabong's_, rough and dangerous, but, unusually, with the handful of chicks foolhardy enough to frequent the cheap, downtown bar, he had an easy charm. At any rate, Scott was a huge improvement on the guys she occasionally picked up here when she got desperate for money for a fix or desperate just to be held.

Melanie looked round at the squalid bar with its slashed seats and drink-sodden tables, and a fat, red-faced barman puffing in exertion as he swept up shards of glass. It was a tempting offer. The squat where she'd been crashing had been raided that arvo and she'd been feeling too crook to bother sorting out a new pitch. Rain was lashing the windows and the wind had gotten up, wailing like a demon. But she had to make fast decisions about whether she could trust someone.

A long time ago, when she'd been stupid and naive, when she'd fled in terror and confusion the night Jem died, she'd poured her heart out to Davey because he'd sat on the steps next to her, put his arm round her shoulders, given her a cigarette and said he couldn't just pass by and leave a pretty girl sobbing on her own. And then he took her to a late-night eatery, bought her a greasy meal and a mug of thick, strong coffee, and said he knew a place where she could go to shelter for the night.

And she didn't think to question why they were walking through a maze of small streets at the back of some closed-down shops until it was too late, he was pushing her back, telling her he hadn't paid ------- good money on a meal for a tramp like her for nothing, laughing at her vain attempts to fight him off...

Melanie shuddered at the memory, her mother's bitter words coming back to her. _Every man lets you down in the end, just like your father did. Men make you cry and leave you crumpled inside. Men use you and abuse you. _  
And over the months, after the rape had driven her to attempt suicide three times, when all that happened after swallowing the pills was that, twice, she woke, shivering and alone, among the garbo and cockroaches, with a crashing headache and feeling unbelievably sick, the third time waking just in time to flee from some drunken sicko who was tugging at her clothes, she learnt to get tougher. Started using guys like they'd always used her. They were good for a bit of company, a few dollars, maybe a fix or a bite to eat. Nothing else.

"So you wanna join me, babes?" Scott grinned, leaned closer, squeezed her knee.

Despite the booze and ciggies, he smelled of after-shave and soap and he had a nice smile. At least he'd been straight with her about just getting out of slammer. Said he planned to go down to the Bay to look up family. And it was one of those long, lonely nights when she needed so much to be held. So Mel smiled back.

"No worries," she agreed.

She had already made up her mind that Scott, though he didn't know it yet, was going to have company all the way down to Summer Bay. And as they left the bar together, she couldn't help but feel rapt because she was going to see a sleepy little seaside town on the coast.

As they travelled, Mel got to know more. Scott talked heaps. About his family. About what happened that night. She listened. Took it all in. Especially when he talked about the diamonds. But she never told him anything in return. Never told him about the countless times when she was a kid and Mum was sobbing over Dad again, and Melanie would have to calm her, like she'd been calming her ever since she was four years old.

That very first night, woken by her mother's hysterical sobs, she'd slipped from her bed and tramped down the steep wooden stairs, clutching the pink fluffy rabbit that was all, apart from a few clothes, that they'd brought with them from their previous life. When they'd arrived, Mum had said they were eight cities away now from where they had lived before, but it still wasn't far enough to stop the memories hurting.

"_You need a band aid?" Four-year-old Mel asked sympathetically, trying hard not to cry, chewing on the pink rabbit's ear, frightened and upset by her mother's distress. "To stop the membries hurting?" _

Her mother laughed, stretched out her arms and Mel ran to her, relieved, thinking it was over now, vaguely picturing the mysterious "membries" as some kind of cuts beneath her mother's hair where she'd been holding her head.

But it wasn't over. It was just the beginning. Except as the years passed it got worse.

Sometimes Mum would get blotto and threaten to kill herself. Then the next day she would be okay again, telling her young daughter she was over it now, it was only the drink talking and she'd done all the crying she was ever going to do for a lowlife who could walk out on his wife and small child, everything would be fine from now on. And, for a while, everything _would_ be fine. For days, weeks, even whole months. Then it would start all over again.  
There were times when Mel felt she couldn't cope anymore and longed to tell someone. But there were only the two of them. Just the two of them in the whole world. Mum said she'd never be able to stand it if Mel left her too. And if they took her mother away to hospital, who would Melanie have?

So somehow they kept it secret. With friends and neighbours, her mother never once let the mask slip. She was pretty and popular, and got asked out on dates, but always refused them, saying she didn't want to disrupt her daughter's life any further. Though Mel often got home from school to find her mother sobbing and shaking, the house a mess and no dinner cooked.

And then, after she had finally talked her out of swallowing a bottleful of tablets or reassured her life was worth living, she would tidy up, fix them both something to eat, maybe try to tackle a homework assignment that she usually wouldn't have time to finish and meant she would be in for a rollicking next day.

It was a tough, harrowing childhood, in some ways as harrowing as Scott's own, and, like Scott, she'd had to grow up fast. But Melanie never breathed a word to her boyfriend about her past.

And especially she never told him that Summer Bay was where she'd been born and had lived until she was four years old.

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"I never loved Scott. I stayed with him because I was using him, first to make my way to Summer Bay, then to get my hands on the diamonds - that never existed!"

Mel gave a wry smile. None of it mattered now. Nothing mattered anymore.

"Kirsty was right. Scott couldn't have killed anyone. Closest he ever came to it was when he bashed the truckie, but how was he to know the guy had a weak heart? Sure, he could talk big and he could use his fists -_ I _know that - but..." She swallowed. Maybe it was time, finally time after all these years of silence, to tell her story. "...up on those cliffs someone _was_ going to kill Jamie...


	31. Chapter 31

**chapter 31**

**_Yesterday_**

"G'day, Ron! Long time, no see!" As if he'd already been watching, Richie Phillips appeared suddenly in the doorway, making the principal jump.

"It's not a social visit, Richie," Ron said uneasily. "I need to speak with you about Kane."

Ron Wilson drew in a sharp breath when he realised who little Kane Phillips' father was, but then he forced himself to recover quickly. It was the first time he had ever visited the rough, violent town of Summerhill. Most of its kids went to school in Summerhill itself but a long-ago mix-up in paperwork meant the Phillips boys attended Summer Bay Primary. In any case, Ron hadn't met several of his pupils' parents. He had only recently, halfway through the school term, been asked to temporarily deputise, until Easter, as principal of Summer Bay Primary due to the ill health of the regular principal. And, although both Kane and Scott had always vaguely reminded Ron of someone, it was a shock to discover who their father was.

Richie.

Or Gus as he first called himself in those days. Ron never did learn his surname but he'd never forgotten that sneering grin. Never forgotten how he'd stolen the girl he loved. The hatred they had for each other was still thick and almost tangible, like the blue smoke curling now from Richie's cigarette. Especially when, in answer to her husband's shout, Richie's wife came downstairs.

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She was beautiful. Not beautiful as in simply pretty or beautiful as in China doll beauty or beautiful as in movie star glam. Her beauty was more natural, more striking.

Long raven hair framed an oval face and lightly tanned complexion, her lips were full and cherry red, her eyes were river blue with silken lashes. She was slim, yet not pencil thin, every rounded curve fell in exactly the right place, yet she was small and delicate. He never dreamt that she'd even look at him twice let alone agree to go out with him when he finally plucked up the courage to ask, but amazingly she said yes.

Ron Wilson was probably the least troublesome student ever to attend Summer Bay High. Quiet and studious, his nose rarely out of a book, his grades consistently excellent, his reports never causing the slightest ripple of concern.

Restless and erratic, Diane Jones breezed into the final few weeks of their school lives, turning up for lessons only when it suited her, wearing whatever she wanted, doing whatever she liked. Chalk and cheese.

But opposites attract. Sometimes so explosively that the fall-out is still raining down from the sky years later.

And during the handful of weeks that she spent in Summer Bay, while her mother rented a caravan in order to spend hours painting the Bay's panoramic views, Ron fell truly, madly and deeply in love with Diane Jones. She told him she didn't feel the same way, that she saw him only as a friend, but he never gave up hoping that one day he could change her mind. It wasn't to be.

Storm clouds had already gathered.

A small group of Summerhill teenagers had lately taken to hanging out on a patch of muddy land near Alf Stewart's Diner, to drink, smoke, practise motorbike scrambling and, most of all, eye up the local talent. They were trouble, Alf told the cops, persuading them to have them moved on, particularly the ringleaders, two brothers, Joe and Gus (or Richie as he was calling himself these days, apparently ever since young Diane told him she didn't like his nickname).

Di was fascinated by Richie, by his good looks and easy charm, the fact he had a police record, didn't give a damn about Alf or anyone else, and, despite Ron not liking it, she often stopped to chat with the gang.

The last time Ron saw Diane, she had wagged school for the arvo. But he'd known exactly where to find her. Cutting classes for the first time in his life, he went down to the muddy slope, to a little beyond where the Diner's customers could sit outside to soak up the sun while they ate, though most, intimidated by the bikers, neglected the outside tables nowadays.

Sure enough, Di sat on the back of Richie's bike, her chin resting on his shoulder, her face flushed with drinking, giggling at something Richie whispered in her ear, and the way she giggled and the way Richie was looking, Ron knew then he'd lost her. But he couldn't just give her up. He loved her too much.

So, to the guffaws of Richie and his mates, ignoring their jeers, with tears in his eyes, he begged and he pleaded with her not to leave him, and she listened, or half listened, the booze making her giggly and sleepy, lolling against Richie's back with a drowsy smile on her face.

Then suddenly she spluttered with laughter, because everything and everyone was incredibly funny in this happy, foggy, dreamy world, and she mumbled sleepily, slurring her words

"You know something, doofus? You're 'bout as interesting as watching paint dry and you're keeping Richie and me from having _fun_!" And she clasped her arms tighter around Richie's waist and nestled her head against him as if they'd been a couple forever.

"Loser!" Richie grinned sneeringly, revving up and circling to deliberately splatter thick brown mud over his rival, roaring with laughter as his mates did the same before they sped away, the harsh noise of the motorbikes shattering the gentle sounds of the lazy summer day.

Ron would always regret not going down to the caravan park to wait for her that night, but he was smarting with anger and humiliation. And he had his pride. Give her a day to think it over, a morning when she would wake with the devil of a hangover, swearing never to touch another drop again, sorry she had dumped him in favour of a workshy dropkick.  
So it was late afternoon before he finally made his way to the Jones's caravan and, to his shock, found it empty. Enquiries revealed that even Diane's liberal-minded mother had been furious over her teenage daughter getting so blotto that she spent all night with a boy she barely knew, and she had had them pack up and leave that day.

They left no forwarding address. The only information the site owner could offer was that Aurora Jones - and if _that_ was her real name, _he_ was from Mars - had vaguely indicated that she might next paint in Melbourne. Or Canberra. Or Sydney. Some big city, she hadn't yet made up her mind. And so Ron's life went on. He went to Uni, gained his teaching qualifications, dated other girls. Eventually he married, had a child. He never saw Di or Richie again.

Until that moment.

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"We got a lot to catch up on, Ron." Richie still hadn't lost the sneer, ushering both his wife and Ron Wilson into the living room with over-exaggerated politeness. "I'll make us all a cuppa, Di, and get the best fruitcake out. Kane, boy, get up to ya room while the grown-ups talk."

Kane didn't need telling twice. Dad's look, when he'd innocently piped up Mr Wilson had come visiting just so that he could advise on how best Kane could avoid getting caught nicking stuff, had been icy. Besides there were four sticks of gum and assorted lollies, newly stolen from Nosey Parker's store, hidden under his pillow away from Scotty's prying eyes, and he wanted to make sure nothing had stuck like it did last time when he'd needed to use his fingernails to scrape it all off before he ate it.

He trudged obligingly upstairs, stopping briefly at the top banister, where last week he'd scratched _Kane was here_, to take another sharp stone from his pocket (Jeez, Miss Murray was a total dill to think he'd collected only _one!_) and carve an arrow alongside, lest anyone pausing to read should be plagued by doubts as to exactly where he'd stood while creating his masterpiece. Then he headed for the room he shared with Scotty to check on the progress of the lollies, blissfully unaware that his whole life had just changed.

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She was still as beautiful as he remembered. Thinner, older and more tired-looking perhaps, but still beautiful. She blamed her tiredness on a bad cold, the reason, she said, she'd been resting when Richie had called her down to greet their unexpected guest. Oh, that cold was responsible for so many things!

For her breath smelling of alcohol _(a hot toddy made of brandy), _for the large bruise on her face _(the mixture of brandy and medication had made her walk groggily into a door)_, for her red-rimmed eyes and for her blowing her nose as she came downstairs, hesitantly, almost as though afraid _(still feeling crook)_. She spoke quickly, anxiously, summing up her life since they'd last met in a few simple, broken sentences.

"We never made it to the city. Mum...she...Mum died of cancer. We knew it was gonna happen, that was why we started travelling round, seeing places she might never see, only...only...I never had time to tell her I thought...And I _was_. I came back to tell Richie. There was no one else to tell, see. Never knew my Dad." She shrugged. "Mum had been too blotto to even ask his name, that was why she was so mad when _I _got...oh, Richie did his block at first, said it wasn't his, but then he was cool. Turned out we qualified for heaps of welfare benefits (_Di omitted to say the welfare money went on drink_) and a place, rent free. When Scott got born we got even more so we was...we were okay. Then some ancient rellie of Richie's said she'd give us five thousand dollars - cash, like, so we didn't have to declare it - if we made it all legal. So we got hitched. Kane came along a few years later. And here I am."

She smiled, as if all was well, but the dingy room with its shabby furniture, cracked paintwork and frayed carpet shouted another story.

Di looked down at her hands and twisted the damp tissue that she'd been using to dab her eyes _(that cold again)_. Had she said too much or too little? But then it didn't matter what she said. Richie would still bash her.

The first time had been because the welfare department insisted he sell his motorbike before they got any more money. Their relationship had always been drink-fuelled and stormy, both of them enjoying the excitement, and she'd thrown the first punch in that blue. But over time, and though in the early years of their marriage she often used to fight back - and occasionally even win the argument - it was Richie now who held all the power and the reasons for her bashings blurred.

Although she'd threatened to walk if he bashed the kids she knew now it was an empty threat. And so did Richie. She'd seen it in his eyes that morning, when he'd thrown the cereal dish at Kane. That glimmer of amusement. Where would she go? She had no family. No friends.

Shame at being exposed as an alcoholic, when she'd lost her part-time cleaning job because her employer had found a bottle of vodka in her locker, had made her drop the couple of friends she'd made while working.

And, ashamed of her beatings, whenever she left the house to shop she walked with shoulders hunched, head down, meeting no one's eyes, and making no attempt whatsoever to talk with anyone. Her sister-in-law Rose had lately begun to suspect something was wrong and she had finally been on the verge of confiding in her. But Rose was now in hospital unconscious, since the car crash that had killed her husband, Richie's younger brother Joe.

And since Joe had died Richie had done with the niceties. Di suspected - no, _knew_ - Richie was listening now. He'd spoken to Ron Wilson pleasantly enough but years of experience had taught her to recognise the danger signals. The comment about best fruitcake had been thinly veiled sarcasm.

Last night Scott and Kane had been talking outside the window, unaware they could be overheard, the house silent and dark, Richie having lain in wait for his wife because she'd gone to visit Rose in hospital.

_"Ma's acting like a fruitcake again!"_

_  
"Betcha she's the best fruitcake though," Kane replied loyally. _

"What ya on about now, drongo?"

"In the show. Where she's acting like a fruitcake."

"Jeee-zus, give me ------- strength!" Scotty said impatiently.

In the darkness, Diane could make out Richie's silhouette and see his shoulders shaking with laughter, but she didn't dare move. Not that she was able to.

Her aching bones were the reason she'd been upstairs trying to drink herself into a stupor.

"Di, you deserve far better than this," Ron blurted out. He had a wife and kid now, but suddenly he could think of nothing and no one else. Seeing her again bewitched him all over again. He was as besotted as he had been when they were young. "It's not too late for us to start a new life together."

She stared at him, startled, gave a half laugh, imagining he was joking. And inwardly trembling. Her husband would have heard every word.

"If we ever split up," she whispered, "Richie would win custody of the kids."

"You can't be sure of that..."

"I _can_," Diane disagreed.

Richie was a smooth operator, a very well respected member of the Summerhill community. He easily explained away her injuries. Everyone knew of her drinking binges and increasingly fragile mental state, whole days lost when she saw and heard things that didn't exist outside her own mind.

"I won't _EVER _leave Kaney and Scotty. My boys, Ron, they're my whole world."

Sure, she hit them, treated them rough, mostly when she was drunk, but drink was her only escape and Di _tried_ to love her kids. She could never abandon them to their father's cruelty. God only knew what revenge Richie would take on the boys if she did.

"Di, please think about it, I still love you, I always..." But Ron got no further as a heavy blow struck his jaw and he tasted blood and broken teeth.

"Di, please..." He tried once more before Richie threw him unceremoniously out into the street, but she only shook her head, sobbing.

"You're wasting your time, Ron. Don't _ever _come back. I'm staying with Richie. I'm staying with _my kids_."

Richie slammed the door and now turned his attention to his wife.  
"Jeez, took me for a bloody fool, din'cha? Scotty starts school, ya meet up with ya old boyfriend and all of a sudden ya up the ------- duff again!"

"Nooo, Rich..."

Di backed away as he came threateningly towards her. How could he even think it? She had never slept, never dreamed of sleeping, with any man but Richie. Apart from having Diane's blue eyes, Kane resembled his father even more strongly than their eldest son did.

"You think I came down in the last ------- shower? If I remember rightly, he was borned 'bout nine months or so after Scotty started school. I'd say that made the ------- brat's age 'zactly right, wouldn't you? Always did wonder why he was such a whingin' sook..."

"Richie, I swear Kane's yours..."

"Shut it!"

She didn't dare scream when her husband grabbed her by the hair and flung her against the wall. And then he looked down at her, smiling slowly, and suddenly she knew what he was going to do.

"Kane! You get your butt down here right now!" Richie yelled.

Diane staggered to her feet and into the kitchen, reaching for the smokes, trying not to listen as Richie Phillips fist thudded for the second time against their small son.

_"Muuum!" _Kane yelled urgently, the child's plea breaking her heart.

Diane Phillips turned, silently appealing for the little boy to understand. Her hand shook uncontrollably as she flicked ash into a cracked saucer because she knew if she interfered Richie would only make Kane's beating far, far worse, and it was her turn next.

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Summerhill residents didn't believe in letting stickybeaks go easily. The ramshackle car in front deliberately blocked Ron Wilson's gleaming red car, the equally ramshackle car behind meant he couldn't turn back.

He beeped his horn, then thought better of it when the burly-looking man in the front car turned and glared menacingly. And he sensed the group of grinning men watching were just waiting for him to get out so they could pick a fight.

Hidden by the low wall he'd ducked behind when he'd first spotted the principal outside the Phillips residence, and therefore needing to periodically bob his head in order to catch only vague, fleeting glimpses of the world, Scotty decided it was time he saw the show properly and came out of his hiding place. The first thing he noticed, to his delight, was that someone had deliberately scratched a long crooked line all along the side of Sir's flashy car.  
Mr Wilson was trapped and Summerhill was Scotty's territory. He dug his hands deep in his pockets and, grinning, walked slowly by, staring at Mr Wilson's bloodied face and the damage to the car, like a visiting tourist fascinated by locals and their quaint customs.

It was such a delicious moment that Scotty decided to enjoy it all over again. He crossed over the road, swung round and turned back, walking slowly past to stare, repeating his actions over and over, until the men, ignoring the kid and apparently satisfied that Ron Wilson wouldn't be back, finally let the car through.

The eldest Phillips boy was whistling happily when he got home. Until he discovered that Kane had been bashed even though Mum had been there to stop it and Mum had been badly bashed too. Since Uncle Joe carked it, things were changing fast and Scotty could hardly keep up with them. But he knew one thing for sure.

The look on Ron Wilson's face when he saw Scotty grinning said he hated him. Enough to kill.

_Today_

The fluffy pink rabbit had been re-stitched many times and was so worn that it was almost bald. They hadn't wanted her to keep it in the hospital, telling her it was unhygienic, but she had screamed and yelled so much that the shrink suggested a compromise.

Newly washed, Boo now sat on the locker next to the bed. Mel reached for the toy just as she had always instinctively reached for its comfort.

One night in a hostel another girl had tried to make off with her belongings and she had fought and kicked and scratched until the other chick, screaming in pain, was forced to drop the bag. But it was the rabbit she'd been fighting to keep most. Because Boo was the only memory she had of her father.

The memory was blurred. All that she could recall was that a tall figure, with fresh-smelling rain dripping down from his hair and coat, had plucked something from a cellophane-wrapped box and was reaching down to her with the gift while she was reaching up to take it.

It was the very first time she saw the toy rabbit she named Boo.

Clutching the cuddly toy to herself as tightly as she used to when she was a child, Mel took a deep breath before she looked up at Kane again.

"I hated you so much. A sicko rapist and...as I thought back then...a murderer too. And I couldn't understand why you should have a kid who adored you. What did you do to deserve that? What does _any_ kid do to deserve their olds?" Tears welled up in her eyes despite her best efforts to stop them. "I wasn't crying for Scott just now. I was crying for someone I never knew. Someone I thought had already died a long time ago. Ron Wilson was my Dad."


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

High on the windswept cliffs, a step away from the certain death of Devil's Leap, sea breezes whipped Melanie's hair across her face. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead as, Jamie safe in her arms at last, she edged her way, slowly, carefully, towards her father. But it was then that the harrowing memory chose to suddenly come rushing back.

She hesitated and looked at Kane, so anxious for his son to survive. It would be the ultimate revenge

_... if..._

Melanie threw the dice and the wheel spun. Her arms dropped helplessly back down to her sides. If her gamble was wrong, she'd lost everything.

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"And I think I know why my Dad..." she said the words again, they were so strange to her.

Other people talked about Dads. In the past, whenever Melanie mentioned her father she dismissed him quickly, as the stranger he'd always been.

_My Dad died when I was four, I never knew him. My Dad gave me a toy rabbit, I've still got it. My Dad was a primary school principal when he died. _

"I think I know why _my Dad _wanted to kill Jamie..."

Kane stared at her, bewildered. "Mel, you're not making sense. He went up on those cliffs to stop Scotty!"

Her tears were all cried out now, her throat raw with the emotion. "So you think I gave Jamie to Scott to kill?"

"I knew ya'd been drinkin', maybe shootin' up, ya weren't thinkin' straight..." He shrugged and let the words drift off by themselves, uncomfortable now with the implication.

"You think I'd do that, yet we're still mates...?"

"Yeh, well, I got a second chance from Dani, and now I got a wife and kid and accepted in Summer Bay." His voice was hoarse with love for Kirsty and Jamie. He'd come so close to losing them. "Don't see why no one else shouldn't get second chances."

Melanie smiled sadly, drawing her knees up to her chin. "You're a pretty cool guy, Kane. Totally wrong about what happened, but a pretty cool guy just the same."

The hospital lights flooded into life, the brightness quickly dispelling the early evening gloom, and she looked up at them for a moment. "Never knew him but he _was_ my Dad and I _want_ to love him, I don't want him to be what he was. But I saw Scott's face when he thought he'd killed you. And that was when I realised he'd beat up on you, push you around, tell you what to do, but in the end he was still looking out for you. And if he was still looking out for you then..."

_"Maybe you should always look over your shoulder, Richie. I promise you one day one of the Phillips kids will pay for what you've done to her."_

_  
"...I was standin' so ------- close to him in that kitchen, Mels, caught every word. Was the last thing the drongo said though before he carked it. Killed by my own bro!" Scott had grinned after he'd finished telling Mel the story, and taken another swig of the tinnie, enjoying her look of horror.  
_  
But out here on these cliffs, remembering the shadow that had crossed her boyfriend's face when he'd thought for a terrible moment that his kid brother was dead, when for once Scott let his mask about not caring for anyone slip, Melanie suddenly wondered...if Scott was still looking out for Kane, then why was he so determined that Ron shouldn't take Jamie...?

And in her heart of hearts she knew the answer...

The threat had been made not in the kitchen, but in the truck...

Because the Phillips' visitor that night HADN'T died...

...And he'd come back...

...to keep his promise...

"Guess we'll never know the full story," Mel told Kane and Boo, after she re-told the memory. "But that doctor guy, the one who came in to see me, y'know, caravan park, involved in all Summer Bay dramas 'cept this one..."

"Flynn?"

"Yeh. Superdoc," Melanie said wryly. "Nah, he's okay. Talks a lot. He told me the wrinklie who owns the Diner remembered my Dad and your Mum had a thing for each other way, way back when they were teens. I was right, Kane. Scott knew my Dad was gonna try and kill Jamie and Scott went to stop him. I've had heaps of time to figure stuff out lately," she added. "Like Mum was so bitter about Dad walking out on us that she could even lie to me about him carking it, like maybe that blow to his head caused some brain injury that made him capable of murder, but I'll never know...I'll never know why he never cared enough to find me..."

"Hey, it's okay," Kane said gently, as, with a catch in her voice, she buried her face in her hands.

"No, it's not." Melanie pulled herself together with an effort. "It'll never be okay. Me and you and Scott, we were just little kids, what did we ever do? But one good thing has come out of all this. I got to know you. You love Kirsty and Jamie so much. It makes me feel I might be able to trust guys again one day. Jeez, I never dreamed a bloody sicko rapist'd be the one to do that!"

"Mel, you gotta know, I'm so sorry about Dan..."  
"It's all about second chances," she interrupted, and smiled a tremulous smile.

No, they would never know the full story. But you and I would.

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Ron Wilson's temporary position as principal ended the day Kane stole the Easter Eggs. In a few weeks he was to take up the post of headmaster to an exclusive private school deep in the heart of rural England.

He could have simply left a report about Kane for the returning principal or asked the deputy principal to deal with matters. But he didn't. He decided to make speaking with Kane's parents his final task. A chance decision that had changed everything.

Out of Summerhill at last, Ron pulled up in a quiet country road and, his whole body wracked by sobs, he allowed the tears to fall freely. His marriage had been rocky from the start. Emily said he always seemed distant. Often, she said, she felt as though she was competing against someone else. They had thought that, by emigrating, starting over again, their marriage might survive. But now he realised he had never really loved his wife. His one true love had been Diane and for the second time she had rejected him. For the second time in his life his heart had been broken. He could never go back to Emily. He knew that now.

Night was falling when he finally managed to stop the flow of tears. Trees were shivering with the breath of cooler air and stars were threading their way through an ever darkening sky while shadows lengthened. He wiped his hands over his face and stared unseeingly at the long, deserted road. And he made his plans.

He already had with him his passport, plane ticket, a substantial amount of cash, ready to buy travellers' cheques. Early tomorrow he was due to fly out to England to spend a few days sorting out and signing legal documents. After that, he would fly home, returning a few weeks later with his wife and daughter. But, without Diane, what reason was there to come back?

He drove on to a town where nobody knew him and he stopped at a general store where he bought some stationery and a child's pretty pink necklace because pink was the colour Melanie loved. He booked a hotel room and, not trusting himself to speak to his wife, asked reception to ring Emily on his behalf to explain school work had kept him back very late and, to be sure of catching his flight, he was staying overnight, too tired to talk, would be in touch soon. Then he wrote three letters.

To Diane (via Summer Bay Primary; he couldn't trust Richie) telling her his new address in England and begging her to get in touch one day. To Emily, admitting that he no longer loved her and there had always been somebody else. And finally, enclosing the necklace, to Melanie, for Emily to read to her, telling her Mummy and Daddy could no longer be together. Before he caught his plane, the helpful clerk in the Post Office assured him that his priority mail would be delivered next day and the letters were dropped into the mail bags.

A terse, angry reply arrived at the exclusive private school and Ron read it in his study where there was the smell of polish and freshly-picked flowers, and, despite the light spring rain gently pattering against the windows, outside on the lush, green grass the sound of children's laughter and voices and the thwack of a ball hitting a cricket bat. Emily wanted nothing more to do with him. She was moving away and had told their daughter that he was dead.

The letter to Melanie had been returned ripped to shreds and the beads of the broken necklace tumbled out of the jiffy bag, rolling on to the desk and spilling to the floor. He tried phoning home but the line had been disconnected. He dialled the number of a friend, who drove out to Ron's old home - but it was already empty.

Oh, he hired private detectives of course, but each time the trail ran cold. Ron never saw his wife or little girl again. But he wrote to Di, regularly, and his old colleagues passed his letters on to Diane whenever she came to the school.

It was to be two years before Di wrote back.

When she could stand the beatings no longer. When she imagined snakes were slithering on the floors and walls and hundreds of large green spiders were crawling over her hair and body and aliens had tuned into her thoughts. When she woke, bloodied and battered, to Kane's screams as his father thrashed him, and to Scott, swigging the last dregs from a bottle of cheap wine, blank-eyed and swaying, watching everything dispassionately.

Wishing so hard now that Ron hadn't believed her story of the "bad cold", with scalding hot tears rolling down her cheeks, she wrote quickly, in large childlike scrawl, her misspelt, ungrammatical words barely covering half the page torn from Scott's dog-eared school book.

Ron's reply came swiftly, telling her when to expect him. Richie would be out all that day. Di

packed her suitcase and the letters he'd sent, sat in the darkened kitchen and waited.

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He dropped the bouquet of flowers in shock when he saw her.

A shell of a person who was rocking herself back and forth and laughing manically. A madwoman, a harridan, a wild-eyed drunk, with broken, yellow teeth, grey skin and matted hair, filthy nails clawing the kitchen table she was using to steady herself as she rose to greet him, staggering drunkenly, slicing the air with a knife, hissing how she was going to kill Richie.

Two years.

Two years was all that it had taken to turn someone so beautiful to this. Her mind had gone and so too had her beauty. And he could never live with this stranger. For the very first time Ron Wilson realised that it wasn't love he felt for Diane. It had never been love. It had never been anything more than an infatuation with a dream.

He backed away towards the door, to leave. But then he heard Richie's laughter, the bottle struck the back of his head and, with warm, sticky blood pouring down his face he sank weakly down to the flower-strewn floor.

And then the madness.

Screams and scuffling and silhouettes like spectres, white-faced in moonlight, and the heaviness of a suitcase dragged across the room and letters scattered like snowflakes and suddenly the smell of acrid smoke and somewhere the heat of a fire. Sometimes the blood is in his eyes and he is unable to see and sometimes the blood is in his mouth and he struggles to breathe. But in this red and black and moonlit world there are glimpses.

He is vaguely aware that the youngest Phillips boy has run inside and is shouting to his father, and he tries to catch hold of his ankle, something, anything, to lever himself upright, but the child spins round, eyes closed in terror, and an ice cold knife sinks pain briefly into his shoulder-blade. He slumps helplessly forward and his gaze fleetingly meets that of the eldest Phillips boy looking in at the window.

Then all blackness again.

Sounds muffled and far away. Eyes too tired to open, mind too tired to think, body too tired to fight. Tugged and pulled and heaved, amidst the smell of sweat and smoke, and the taste of blood and the noise of Richie's rasping breath and Di's defeated wails, through sharp pebbles of broken glass and petals from fallen flowers, only once finding strength enough to flex a hand before collapsing.

His head and body were aching when he woke in a filthy truck that stank of petrol. Gates creaked. Voices. One a man's, the other a boy's. Grinning like Beelzebub, Richie climbed into the back of the truck, tapping grey powdery ash from a half-smoked cigarette.

"Ya got ------- lucky. I'm gonna take ya someplace they'll fix ya up afores they send ya packin'. But ya ever come near Di again and I'll ------- kill ya."

"Gates all opened, Dad." Unable to resist gloating over his old enemy, Scotty poked his head through the dirty canvas to impart the unnecessary information, eyes shining in admiration for his father.

She had given up everything for her kids. The youngest prepared to kill him and the eldest, after coolly watching his father beat him up, helping dispose of him. Like leeches, the Phillips boys had sucked the lifeblood from Diane until they'd drained her and there was nothing left.

A terrible rage burned through every fibre of his being.

"Maybe you should always look over your shoulder, Richie. I promise you one day one of the Phillips kids will pay for what you've done to her."

The beating he received plunged him quickly back into unconsciousness.

Ron Wilson was finally taken to an airport. He never found out where he'd been kept for days. He only knew that the men were friends of Richie's and that they waited only until he was well enough to travel without arousing suspicion.

Two of them, who's names he never knew, drove him there and kept him close by. In his pocket he had his passport, plane ticket to England and barely enough cash for the journey, his associates, after "persuading" him to confide his account details, feeling free to use his credit card, purchasing the return ticket and awarding themselves a hefty payment for their troubles. In his ears he had a hissed warning to never go near Richie's wife again and in his back dug the cold steel of a gun, its owner's breath menacing as he made as if putting an arm round the shoulder of an old mate flying off to the other side of the world.

"Lag right now if ya wanna. But funny thing about slammers. Ya get to have mates who'll track a guy down anywhere in the world and kill him for ya. Real bonzer blokes, eh?"

But Ron had no intention anyway of returning to Diane and her insanity. The years would roll on by without her.

Oh, but he never forgot. He never forgot. And he never forgave.

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Many years passed before Ron Wilson retired and returned to Summer Bay.

A great deal had changed but the Diner's owner, Alf Stewart, though so much more wrinkled and so much more breathless, was still kingpin and Colleen Smart, though having long lost the good looks that had won her a beauty pageant in her youth, was still queen of all gossip.

It was Colleen, filling him in on all the news of the Bay, ignoring Alf's exasperated sighs as he was left to deal with the Diner's early morning rush on his own, who told him that Kane Phillips was a father. Happily married, captaining the tourist ferries, his wife a trainee teacher, their son a pupil at Summer Bay Primary.

Ron's grip tightened on the cup of coffee he held. Colleen flicked back her hair and gave an affected little giggle, flattered that she was holding Ron Wilson's undivided attention, unaware that the same gestures that had been so attractive when she was younger seemed strangely grotesque now.

"And to think folk said no good would ever come of that boy." Colleen, conveniently forgetting that she herself had once been one of the very folk to make such a prediction, liked to show off about Kirsty and Kane. Her grown-up children lived far, far away with families of their own, and the young couple had taken her to their hearts ever since she had supported Kane through his cancer scare. "His brother's in prison, his father died drunk in a bar, and as for his mother..." Colleen lowered her voice to a whisper; "...passed away in a hospital for folk with mental troubles..."

"Diane's dead?" He should have expected it. More than a decade ago, a friend still living in the Bay then had mentioned that Di was in very poor health and it was rumoured she had a drink problem. Yet it still took him by surprise. Still hurt so much when he thought of all that might have been.

"Oh! You knew her?"

"Colleen, for the tenth time of asking, could you please sort out two cheese salads and two OJs for table nine?" Alf interrupted, guessing correctly that Ron didn't wish to discuss exactly how he'd known Diane Phillips.  
"Back in a jiffy." Colleen rolled her eyes and grinned, snatching up the dishes, flouncing off as though she were sixteen again.

"Sorry, mate," Alf said sympathetically. "Not the best news nor the best way to hear what happened to your teenage flame."

"It was a long time ago," Ron shrugged, smiling back at Colleen. She could be a useful ally. The source of much information.

Although he hadn't expected to become fond of her. A good ten or more years older than Ron Wilson, and, knowing nothing about Ron's teenage days, having been too busy getting married and being mother to two lively children while he was still a student at Summer Bay High, Colleen was thoroughly enjoying her romance.

While Ron's plans fell neatly into place. He came out of retirement to take a part-time teaching post again at Summer Bay Primary. All his old colleagues had long since left and his new colleagues believed his story that, although he didn't need the money, he missed teaching.

The first time he saw Jamie, when the little boy proudly announced that he could write James Daniel Phillips without any spelling mistakes or back-to-front letters, Ron was hardly listening. All he could see before him was Kane. The same bright blue eyes, the same cheeky grin, the same mop of unruly hair. The years rolled back. He remembered Diane as she was, so beautiful, so full of life. And Diane the last time he saw her. Somebody had to pay for all her suffering.

He had a promise to keep.

So he bided his time. Plotted meticulously. Befriending Kirsty was easy. Kirsty was one of those rare souls who believed in everyone, trusting him implicitly. That day in the Diner, her sisters had unwittingly told him about the friction in the Sutherland family over her relationship with Kane Phillips and he played to perfection the part of a fatherly figure in whom she could confide.

He watched. He waited. He felt no pity when, leaving the churchyard after visiting Diane's grave, hiding quickly when he saw the Phillips, he gleaned from their private, tearful conversation that they had already lost a child. No, hate was all that Ron could feel for them.

Hate as he watched the family from the bridge over the wharf, Kane Phillips and his wife and son, laughing and splashing in puddles without a care in the world. That was when Colleen "accidentally" bumped into him and he'd had to pretend that he'd simply been admiring the sea views. His smile for her had been genuine though.

His quarrel wasn't with Colleen Smart. He had no reason to kill her. His foot had hit the brake sharply when he'd seen her sitting at the bus-stop just when he'd been about to deliberately crash the car, hoping to kill Kane Phillips' wife and son, even if it meant his own death. Unwittingly, Colleen had saved their lives.

But the storm. The storm that first swirled faraway in an icy ocean before suddenly unleashing its fury on the pretty little seaside towns that dotted the coast, that was his chance. He took Colleen back to her caravan and kissed her before he left.  
"Colleen, I have to go back. I've left Mrs Phillips and Jamie all alone in that isolated house and the storm's much worse. Her husband's still out at sea, her parents have gone to the hospital, now the electric and the phone lines are down. Who else is there to check on them?"

It was perfect. They were isolated and alone. He would drive Kirsty and Jamie back to the "safety" of the town. In some parts, the coastal roads were narrow and treacherously slippy. It would be called a tragic accident when the car plunged into the sea...

But the Phillips weren't alone...

It really wasn't fair, Scotty was trying ------- damn hard here. They were meant to be scared. Kane's wife wasn't supposed to be chipping away at his childhood memories by reminding him of the photos. Jamie wasn't supposed to look exactly like Kane did when he was a kid. This wasn't how he pictured things. So, okay, he knew _he_ couldn't kill anyone, but that wasn't the image he'd carefully cultivated all these years and a guy had to think of his image, for Crissakes! Jeez, he was Richie "Gus" Phillips' son and that fact alone was often enough to make the toughest blokes think twice before picking a fight.

Scotty's biggest fear right now was that the kid might flinch suddenly, causing the knife to accidentally slip. He moved the knife back and kept up the tough talk, hoping she hadn't noticed. Jeez, why couldn't she just be afraid of him, burst into tears and get the cash, then they could all have parted at the scene of the crime like they were _supposed_ to, victims screaming hysterically, callous, knife-wielding crim making his getaway. All their reputations intact.

The car headlights that suddenly flooded over them took all three by surprise. Scott turned and started. Jamie blinked at the sight of his teacher. Kirsty dared breathe again as through the sheets of rain and narrow beams of light she saw Ron Wilson sitting behind the wheel of the car...

_"Maybe you should always look over your shoulder, Richie. I promise you one day one of the Phillips kids will pay for what you've done to her."  
_  
Scott had never told Kane the identity of the man he stabbed. But he'd never forgotten Ron Wilson's words. They had chilled even Scotty P. It was no idle threat made in anger. The words were spat in a low, terrifying growl, pure hatred blazing in Ron Wilson's eyes. Scott thought Dad really had killed him when he launched a second vicious attack, but Richie, perhaps remembering that cops and corpses didn't mix too well, pulled himself back just in time, wiping the blood from himself, and telling Scotty ---- off now, he had business to attend to.

And the same pure hatred was there now as he looked at Jamie. Scott turned for only a second but it was enough. His nephew tore past, towards the dark and the dangerous, jagged cliffs. ------- kids, it was like having Kane to look after all over again, Scotty thought impatiently, determined to get to the anklebiter before Ron Wilson or before Jamie tumbled to his death.

"Mr Wilson...Ron...you've got to stop him..." Unable to put any weight on her badly broken, Kirsty crumpled to the ground, never dreaming that the man she was appealing to for help intended to harm her small son.  
Ron stooped for a fleeting second, lightly touching her shoulder. "I will, Mrs Phillips. I promise you," he said with quiet determination. And he smiled grimly to himself as he turned to the cliffs. He had recognised Scott at once. The resemblance to Richie wasn't as strong as it was with Kane, but there was no mistaking a Phillips. So there was only Scott Phillips to stop him now...

And there was no way the girl on the cliffs would give the boy to Scott, not when she seemed already well aware of Scott's criminal past, not with Kane yelling for her to pass him to Ron, not when she was edging her way towards Ron Wilson. In a moment, when the Phillips kid was in his arms, he would jump to their deaths. Nothing could go wrong now.

But Ron never knew that the girl on the cliffs was the daughter he had walked away from all those years ago and Melanie had never known a father's love. Maybe if she had, she might have believed him incapable of murder and made the wrong decision. But Mel had learnt from an early age to fend for herself. To trust only her own instincts. And although she knew, because Kane had told her, it was Ron Wilson reaching to take Jamie now, her father was a stranger to her.

But she'd seen Scott's face when he'd thought for a terrible moment that he'd killed Kane, knew then that, despite everything Scott had become, he was still looking out for his kid brother.

So Melanie had played all and gambled on instinct.

And Jamie was safe.

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Running footsteps announced the arrival of Jamie to the hospital ward long before he himself or his mother reached there. Mel was alarmed to see him look so solemn.

"J?" Kane queried in concern.

"We got a big problem," the little boy said.


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

"See, I can't call ya AnnieMel, 'cos AnnieMel sounds like_ animal_ and then people'd think you were a cat or a dog or a rabbit or a horse or a pet rat," Jamie, as always, launched straight into the topic on his mind. "And _everyone_ calls ya Mel 'stead of Mel'nee so what if I call ya Mel'nee?"

"Mel'nee's good." Melanie choked back a sob.

"Cool!" Jamie said. "Cos I didn't want anyone to thinkin' you were a mouse or a 'roo or a koala or a wallaby or a parrot or somethin' though a parrot isn't _really_ an animal, but they mightn't know that, not if they were only little kids or from Mars or somethin'."

"He inherited the ability to talk non-stop from Kirst," Kane said, deadpan, and received a slap on his arm from a grinning Kirsty.

"I didn't eat the grapes - I only thought about it," Jamie added, producing the bag that Kirsty had purchased on the way to the hospital. "And I made ya a card."

It was fortunate for Kane and Kirsty that Jamie hadn't designed the get-well card for some cantankerous elderly person, about to breathe their last, who had promised to bequeath to the Phillips family a multi-million fortune if - and _only if _- they did nothing whatsoever to upset their prospective benefactor in the meantime. Having been interrupted during the card's creation, Jamie had forgotten to add the three vital horizontal lines to the capital E, and the card advised Mel to _"Get Will Soon"._

It was a complete mystery to the little boy why Mum, Dad and Mel'nee were falling about laughing. Grown-ups were weird.

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I _wish_ I could tell you that the bodies of Scotty Phillips and Ron Wilson were recovered from the deep ocean. Then Kane could have said a proper goodbye to his brother; Mel a proper goodbye to her father. They say being able to say a proper goodbye, that's some comfort to the bereaved. And I'm the type of person who likes happy endings so, if people _had_ to die, I _wish_ the blow could have been softened.

But it just didn't happen that way. The SES scoured the waters over and over before they finally had to admit defeat and give up the search.

Ron Wilson's memorial service was held in the traditional manner, in the old Summer Bay church, the funereal bells sounding mournfully out across the ancient graveyard, where the knife and the "diamonds" had been buried so long ago, where still Samuel Edmund Coates _hereth lieth sleeping in peace, _where still by night the moon watches while shadows fall across silent graves and trees whisper their secrets.

But Kane chose for Scotty's service to be held out at sea. It seemed right somehow. There was something never-ending about the waves rolling and crashing, and then their thunder, like a mighty voice, never to be silenced.

Tears were rolling down his cheeks, but Kirsty and Jamie stood at either side of him, holding tightly on to his hands, getting him through with their love.

The minister cleared his throat and began the service. "We are gathered here today to pay our last respects to the late Scott Augustus Phillips..."

" ------- hell, he kept_ that _quiet!" Kane was stunned to learn that Scott had a middle name.

Startled, the minister glanced quickly down to check he had the correct papers, wondering if, by some terrible mistake, he was reading out a memorial service for someone who was very much alive. After all, in his experience, the dead didn't normally return to thoughtfully inform the living of their passing. The late Scott Augustus Phillips, if indeed he _was_, would have had _no choice _other than to keep his death quiet.

"It's okay," Kirsty said, squeezing Kane's hand, and nodding to the minister, who, concluding that the chief mourner had been affected by grief, continued with the reading.

"Scott Augustus Phillips was taken suddenly from us in tragic circumstances..."

"Jeeezusss! Sweet Jeeezus!" Kane said, shaking his head in disbelief as sudden realisation dawned.

Obviously, thought the minister, the chief mourner was now in the full throes of grief and appealing to a higher power.

SAP! The name spelt **SAP!**

_Scotty, in his capacity as elder brother, took his duties seriously. Kane had accompanied him on heaps of expeditions, learning important lessons such the best shops for nicking stuff from or how to increase your chances of hitting your target with a dollop of spit while leaning over the wharf's bridge. On this particular occasion they were welcoming a new neighbour to Summerhill by spray-painting graffiti on his fence. _

"Then we give him the empty cans and tell him we took them off some kids we seen painting his fence before we chased them off," Scott instructed. "He'll prob'ly give us a coupla dollars for dobbing them in. I've heard this guy's a real sucker so he'll fall for anythin' we tell him."

"Ah. A sap." Kane nodded wisely, having recently come across the word in a school book and checked it out for himself in the dictionary.

Scott gave him a funny look.

"A n'idiot. Stupid. A jerk." Kane was keen to show off his knowledge and warmed to his theme. "A dill. A drongo. A dork. Maybe a patsy or a fall guy or a..."

_  
"Just paint the ------- fence!" Scott said through clenched teeth. _

"Or sap can also be part of a plant," Kane said helpfully, seeing as Scott didn't seem too keen on the first meaning. "Ya know, the soft, soggy inside..."

_  
"Just paint the ------- fence, drongo!" Scott said, clipping him harshly round the ear at the same time as kicking him in a double-Scotty special. _

Though, when the new guy turned out not to be the sucker - sap - they had him down for and began furiously chasing after them, hellbent on revenge, it was Scott who yanked his kid brother over the wall Kane was way too small to reach before climbing to safety himself.

Maybe, the soft, soggy inside was right after all, Kane thought sadly.

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It was only when they were strolling along the beach, the day after Scott's memorial service, that Jamie thought to put his question.

"What happened to the other kid, Dad?"

"What other kid, J?"

"Ya know, the little girl called Lulu. She was on the cliffs with me. She was there and then I didn't know where she went and then I felled. Did she got rescued first?"

A lump rose in Kane's throat and he exchanged an emotional look with Kirsty. Small, quiet tears were streaming down his wife's face. Neither of them could speak.

No one had ever mentioned to Jamie that Dani thought she saw Lily that night. In fact, thinking now it had all been her imagination, Dani had told no one but Kirsty and Kirsty had told no one but Kane. Nor was Jamie aware that Lulu was Kirsty and Kane's private nickname for Lily, that it had been ever since they'd told him about his sister, but, being too young to pronounce Lily, he'd said Lulu instead. There was no way he could have known.

"Yeh. That's it," Kane said at last, in a hoarse, barely audible whisper, wondering how to explain to his small son things he didn't understand himself.

But Jamie had already moved swiftly on to the next topic. " Uncle Scotty shouldn't have been playing with knives, should he, Dad? He should've got a footie to play with instead. Though if he kicked the footie on the cliffs it might've gone in the water and..."

Suddenly espying a large, unbroken seashell, the little boy broke off mid-sentence to run on ahead to add it to his shell collection, then decided to entertain a crab by writing his name in the sand with a nearby stick, explaining to the bemused crab, which had been meandering along minding its own business and would have far preferred to continue, the reason why there were no spelling mistakes or back-to-front letters.

But, for his parents, time had stood still. Just like it had on the day Flynn told him that Kirsty had lost the baby, Kane's heart snapped in two.

"It _was_ Lily, Kirst. It _was _our little girl. She even knew...even knew about our nickname for her."

The pain of losing their daughter still hurt so very, very much. They sat together on the soft golden sands, the sun enveloping them in its gentle warmth, tiny, white, fluffy clouds floating slowly through an azure sky, the haunting cries of the gulls mixing with the rush of the white-capped waves.

Jamie had begun building the "swimming pool" he'd promised the bemused crab and was now occupied in digging a hole and filling it with water. Lost in their thoughts, his parents looked silently out at the sea, across the calm turquoise water, towards Devil'ss Leap, Kirsty leaning her head back on her husband's chest as Kane held her.

At last she spoke, her voice thick with tears.

"You hear stories, don't you? About people who die, about them meeting family who died before them. Maybe...maybe Lily was there for her uncle Scott."

"Ya reckon there's somethin' in it, Kirst?"

"I don't know," Kirsty sighed. "I really don't know. I wish I did."

"Whinger!" Jamie yelled suddenly, as the crab finally decided it had had enough and scuttled away. "Some crabs are sooo ungrateful!"

Which made them both laugh in spite of their sadness.

"At least, thanks to Scott and Mel, we still have Jamie," Kirsty said quietly.

"Yeh. At least we still have Jamie. And each other," Kane said. And he tenderly kissed the top of her head and wrapped his arms protectively around her.

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The terror of being raped for a second time haunted Dani's every waking moment. She had lost weight and was pale, her restless sleep frequently plagued by nightmares. But she wasn't alone anymore. Her husband Mark was supportive, Flynn was arranging counselling, and the whole family rallied round.

Kane had, initially, avoided her, thinking it would be for the best, till she told him that what happened, being attacked on her way home one night, wasn't his fault.

"I didn't want ya to be reminded," he said awkwardly, in answer to her question of why he'd been dodging her, when they'd met accidentally in the caravan house.

"Kane, I forgave you a long time ago. You know that."

"But you know I can never repay you, never take back what I did. I know you're gonna think it's rich, coming from me, but I wanna kill this sicko!"

"Violence never solved anything," Dani said shakily. "I thought you'd realised that."

"Yeh. Sorry. Just makes me feel kind of helpless, ya know? Knowin' there's nothin' I can do."

"There is. Just be a brother-in-law to me, huh? 'Cos I never had a brother and I need all the friends I can lean on right now."

"Jeez, Dan, whatever you want, you got it!" There was no mistaking the sincerity in his voice.

Dani smiled tremulously. "There was a time once I wouldn't have spent two minutes alone with you. Guess we've come a long, long way since our very first mediation."

"I'm glad."

"Yeh. Me too." Dani made to turn, then hesitated. "And, Kane, I'm...I'm glad you married Kirsty."

A breath seemed to catch on the air. It was as if the old caravan house _breathed_, for old houses are often filled with strange sounds, of floorboards that creak or doors that rattle or windows that unexpectedly bang shut. Oh, I _know_ it was probably only the curtains blowing in the wind or some errant breeze sweeping in past the attic's wooden rafters or the spreading branches of the huge oak, brushing against the upstairs window, just like they had the night little Sally Fletcher screamed when first she saw their dancing shadows, imagining some ghost or monster was outside.

But I like to think that the old caravan house, remembering all the pain and sadness it had soaked up on that terrible, terrible day, sensed a little more healing for both.

And that it smiled.


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

Jade was due to give birth in January. Though the consultant did warn her that her twins might arrive early.

"So they might arrive on Xmas Day or New Year's Day or Xmas Eve or New Year's Eve or..."

"Or any time really!" Dani teased, glad to have some good news to focus on.

They sat together on the beach, she, Jade and Kirsty, the late afternoon sun no longer blazing as fiercely as it had been earlier, but pleasantly warm now, a light wind blowing on the sea, but timidly, as though afraid to disturb the relaxing sleepiness that marked the day.

Jade smiled lazily back at Dani. Rhys and Shelley were babysitting Jamie, while Seb and Mark gone to watch a footie game. And, having met up with Robbie in Paris after her modelling assignment, Tasha was finally back from France. Behaving as mysteriously as only Tasha and Robbie could, the couple had asked Kane to come to the wharf with them, making Kirsty promise, while frequently giggling at each other, that she would bring herself and Jamie down later.

So Kirsty, Dani and Jade had decided to make this _their _time, and they had brought with them a picnic of sorts, raiding the kitchen cupboards of the caravan house for random interesting snacks, just like they used to when they were small and still believed in magic and Santa Claus and princes and princesses living in fairytale castles, and, because Dani said so, that _Cool Chicks_ would be cutting a record deal before Dani's eighth birthday.

"You should've seen the olds' faces when they heard they were going to be grandparents again. They were rapt! They said that when they thought I'd inherited the De Groot heart condition, it kind of put everything in perspective about them wanting custody of Jamie. Made them realise that all that mattered was that kids were loved and _knew_ they were loved - no matter how old they were!" Jade grinned. The last six words had been directed at herself. "I know I've got to take it easy with the high blood pressure stuff, but I can't believe I actually mistook my pregnancy for a life-threatening illness! How could I do that?"

She knew she was babbling but she couldn't help herself. Jade had been babbling in pure happiness (and apprehension; becoming a Mum was a whole new world) ever since she'd been given the news. Crippled by a car accident, Seb had been told that it was _unlikely_ he would ever father children - but, as the consultant pointed out, smiling at Jade's mixed emotions of shock and delight, it wasn't _impossible_. A family! It was all she'd ever wanted. And _twins!_ They might be boys or girls, or one of each, she and Seb would wait till January to find out. Or Xmas Day. Or Xmas Eve. Or New Year's Day. Or New Year's Eve. Any time really, like Dani said.

"And then, when we found out there were _two_ bubs! Why didn't I _remember_ there were twins in the De Groot family too?" Jade added, barely pausing for breath.

"Because you're a dag!" Kirsty said, tugging amusedly at the friendship bracelet that Jade wore on her wrist. "I can't believe you've still got that, Jade! Only a dag would keep something like that after all this time."

"It's for luck," Jade grinned.

Dani smiled quietly. "Okay, I admit, I must be a dag too - I've still got the one you made for me. You said you made it rainbow-coloured because I acted like a princess all the time, then we had a blue about it and both of us threw major hissy fits! Remember?"

Kirsty looked sheepish. "Well...uh...all dags together then. I kept the one I made for myself! Weird, isn't it? I wonder why we did? You never kept your doll, Jade, and I don't know what happened to Boot."

"Abby went to my best mate's little sister," Jade recalled. "Course, I'd _finally _realised she wasn't real by then, but I made sure she went to a good home just the same."

"Boot turned up again in The Memory Box," Dani said, remembering the small toy dog, Kirsty's favourite, had been one of the first things to tumble out.

Seeing Kirsty's puzzled look, she added, "The 'rents had kept all kinds from when we were kids. Dad, Jade and me, we looked through all the stuff when you and Mum were still missing after the _Mirigini_ went down because Dad said it would make you feel closer. And it was strange, but it _did_. Maybe that's why we all kept the friendship bracelets? Because we hoped we'd be friends as well as sisters no matter...no matter what the future held for each of us..."

Dani's voice crumbled and became a whisper. When they were very young, the future had been so full of hope. So easy then, when the world was theirs, when fairy godmothers made everything alright and wicked witches were banished to far-off lands, when bad dreams could be chased away with a drink of hot milk and a reassuring cuddle from Mum or Dad. Grown up nightmares were different.

"Dani!" Kirsty flung her arms round her, so choked up with tears it was all that she could say.

She would never forget Dani's sacrifice in accepting Kane as her husband. Being a victim again of something so horrific must have been so terrible for heri. Like Kane, Kirsty would have given anything to change what happened. Anything to take away Dani's pain.

"No, it's okay. Really, it's okay. I can get through this - as long as I've got my sisters," Dani smiled through her own tears, and hugged her back, drawing Jade into a hug too because Jade had pulled a little apart, biting her lip.

"But I'm not really, am I?" Jade said uncertainly. "I'm an imposter. I never have been your si..."

_"JAAAAADE!!!" _Both Kirsty and Dani protested.

"You'll always be my daggy twin, dork!" Kirsty said affectionately, flicking back Jade's hair and making her laugh.

"And one of the Cool Chicks, even if you _are_ going to be a Mum," Dani added.

"Come on, we've got to!" Kirsty grinned.

"Cool chicks!" They yelled, high-fiving each other and, laughing, fell back on the warm, soft sand.

"That's why all three of us will always be alright, Dan," Kirsty said gently. "Like you told us back when we were kids, _Cool Chicks_ can do _anything_ - as long as the three of us have each other."

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After all that had happened, Tasha felt unusually awkward.

She and Robbie had persuaded Kane to come down to the wharf with them, just like they'd planned. But they had planned the belated birthday surprise before they learnt of the tragic deaths of Scott Phillips and Ron Wilson, of little Jamie coming so close to being killed, of Colleen Smart passing away. The slow, cloudless sunny day and the sparkling blue sea seemed tinged by sadness, as though all laughter should be hushed.

She shrugged. "Well, what am _I_ gonna do with a boat?"

"It's a _ship_!" Kane corrected automatically. Jeez, when would landlubbers _ever_ learn to tell the difference? There was a simple rule of thumb: boats could fit on ships and ships couldn't fit on boats, but landlubbers never seemed to get their heads round it.

"Whatever. What am _I_ gonna do with it?"

"Tash, you can't go around spending this kind of money on birthdays. People don't just rock up and buy things like ships for other people," Kane said. But his eyes were shining, and his gaze kept straying back to the cabin cruiser that bobbed happily on the water, its brand new paintwork glistening in the bright sunlight.

It was more than twice the size the Blaxland had been, with a large cooking area, shower rooms and room enough to sleep at least twenty people. He had hardly dared breathe as Tasha and Robbie had taken him on a guided tour. Captaining his very own ship was something he'd dreamed of ever since he'd been a little kid. Any minute now he was sure to wake.

"Objection!" Robbie chipped in, pushing his sliding-down glasses back up his nose for the hundredth time that day. "Rumour has it that Elvis Presley spontaneously gave away 200 cars to strangers."

"See?" Tasha cried triumphantly, as though it were all done and dusted.

"But buying ships - or cars - does seem a trifle...uh...extravagant," Robbie added.

"See?" Kane retaliated quickly to Tasha before looking back at the cruiser, unable to tear his gaze away from the ship for more than a fraction of a second.

"But it's registered in _my_ name."

"Good point, Tash," Robbie observed.

"Yeh, and you want_ me_ to look after it, knowing full well possession is nine-tenths of the law."

"_Excellent _point, Kane!" Robbie said.

"Robbie, can you make up your mind who's side you're on?"

Robbie shook his head gravely at Tasha, pushing back his glasses for the hundred-and-first time that day. "Sorry. Can't do that. If one intends to make the law one's career, as one does, then one has to see all viewpoints."

Tasha rolled her eyes at Kane. "It might be easier if you just accept the prezzie. It's either that or we have to spend all day listening to Robbie defending us. _Please?"_

Kane grinned. "Maybe I will. Anything's better than listening to Robbie!"

"People will pay megabucks to have me defend them one day," Robbie protested, breathing on the troublesome glasses and polishing them with the corner of the crumpled shirt that was hanging out of his trousers.

"But, Tash, I think...," Kane began.

"Too late, it's yours!"

"Correct. A verbal agreement can be a valid and binding contract." Robbie was on a roll and deeply impressing himself.

Pulling an amused face at him, Tasha waved madly back to Kirsty and Jamie, who, unbeknown to Kane, had been watching from the top of the bridge over the wharf.

"Jeez, Tash, you're a great mate but ya never gonna be rich!" Kane said, shaking his head.

"But I'm already rich, Kane," Tasha said, puzzled. "You know, not money rich, I mean...oh, _you _know!" She frowned, lacking the words she needed to explain, looking as confused as the old Tasha used to.

Thanks to her millionaire father, Tasha owned the caravan park but it had actually been a relief when he'd left nothing more to her in his will. Money troubled Tasha greatly. She wanted to give it all away and none of her friends would take it.

Sally and Flynn insisted all the profits from the caravan park went straight into her own bank account; Kane and Kirsty struggled to pay bills but refused to take "freebies"; Irene firmly told her she would disown her if Tasha ever dared sneak so much as a cent, never mind a fifty-dollar bill, into her purse again; Robbie wanted to become "the most successful lawyer the world, in fact, the universe or the galaxy, has ever known" under his own steam. The fact her modelling career was beginning to take off hadn't helped matters.

But the moment the sale of the cruiser went through and her savings dipped drastically, Tasha felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. It had been a stroke of genius to register the ship as her own. She knew Kane would never have accepted the birthday present otherwise.

"Yeh. I know _exactly_ what you mean about being rich, Tash." Kane looked at Kirsty and Jamie, his heart so full of love for them.

"Kirst, Kane's gonna look after a boat - ship - for me!" Tasha laughed, being swept along with all this happiness around. Maybe it was okay to laugh again even after the recent tragic deaths because memories stayed in hearts though life moved on. "Oh, and, Kane, Kane, you gotta choose a name cos we've gotta name it, with a champagne bottle and everything, we've got to!"

"Whoo-hoo!" Robbie yelled, grabbing Jamie by the wrist and swinging him high into the air.

Jamie often wondered why Robbie was such a very tall kid for his age, but thought he was a great kid just the same.

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Alf Stewart had, for all his impatience with her, had been very fond of Summer Bay's very own gossip queen. As a final tribute, he commissioned Hayley Lawson to paint a portrait of Colleen and Hayley returned from her New York art studio specially to do so.

The picture hangs in the Diner still, among the other mementoes.

Fishing rods and nets adorn the walls, reminders of how the Bay began life as a tiny, unremarkable fishing village, and, in a glass case on a yellowing scroll, the signatures of its very first settlers bear testimony to their pledge to build homes for their families.

There are photographs of special events over the years: beauty pageants and marathons, anniversaries and processions, weddings and the day a minor English Royal, on his way to a prior engagement, had his car break down nearby and, while waiting for its replacement, sampled the Diner's frothy white coffee and declared it _splendid_.

There are the photographs too that tell their own stories: on board the doomed _Mirigini_, passengers in evening dress, as yet unaware of their fate, wave happily at the camera; Alf Stewart grins as he proudly shows off the biggest fish ever to be caught in the Bay; Kirsty Phillips _nee_ Sutherland clenches her fist in triumph, having moments ago won an Olympic gold medal for swimming; Don Fisher wipes a tear from his eye, cheered by his students on his last day of teaching; a ship is launched by a tall, stunningly beautiful girl, vaguely familiar to anyone who has ever flicked through a fashion magazine.

And then there are the snapshots, of celebrations held in the Diner over the years (_look carefully if you're visiting the Bay after a long absence; you may well see the face of many an old friend_), the opening of Noah's Bar, the farewell party for Nick Smith, Sally Fletcher's twenty-first birthday.

On a stand in the corner sits the miniature reconstruction of the town, made by students from Summer Bay High, some parts obviously amateur, some parts more skilfully created, but the beach, caravan park, Diner, Ye Olde Summer Bay Lolly Shoppe (at eighty-eight, Mrs Parker finally retired and left her sixty-seven-year-old daughter to run the store; I hear Dora serves her customers every bit as slowly as her mother did, which, apparently, suits everyone to a T), the wharf, and the ships sailing out towards the blue ocean, are all instantly recognisable.

The photographs often make topics of conversation, tourists and newcomers wanting to know more, and always some Summer Bayer happy to oblige. Sometimes the talk will turn to the ship's launch and its captain, and of how Captain Kane Phillips' brother and another man plunged to their violent deaths, on the same night that Colleen Smart slipped more gently from this life, in a deep, peaceful sleep.

And someone will recall that, after the sudden storm cleared that night, thousands of stars turned the sky tremendously bright, a phenomenon believed to have happened only once before, and then in ancient times, when legend tells of an Aborigine tribe, dwelling in the area now known as Summerhill, thought that in the bright night sky they saw again the ghosts of their ancestors.

From the very first, life in Summer Bay has never been easy, the little seaside town prone to floods, mud slides, bush fires, earthquake, cliff-top dramas and, of course, the infamous sudden storms (it was one such that brought down the _Mirigini_) but, despite this, or perhaps _because_ of this, there has always been a tenacity and fighting spirit in those who live there.

There is an old saying in the Bay, you may have heard it: _Those that can love through stormy weather will know a love that lasts forever._

Perhaps there was no couple that this was more true of than Kirsty and Kane.

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They came up with the name for the cabin cruiser together.

"Promises to Keep!" They said in unison, having already dismissed dozens of other ideas.

Calling the ship after a person couldn't work because there were far too many people they wanted to honour; other titles seemed too long or too bland; two or three that were almost chosen fell from grace when it was discovered there were already ships that bore such titles sailing the seven seas.

They thought of the name when they weren't thinking about it all, in the Diner over chocolate milk shakes, when life was slowly creeping back to normal, when Kirsty was comparing old and modern poetry in preparation for her next training placement (taking older students for English) and Kane was squinting at the pages to read them upside-down, while Jamie and Luke, his best mate from school, were kneeling on two wooden stools by the ice-cream bar, chins in hands, elbows on counter, earnestly explaining to an amused Alf Stewart that all he had to do was invent an ice-cream that would turn people very, very small, then Jamie and Luke could wander round the Summer Bay miniature.

"Promises to Keep," Kirsty repeated in a whisper. The words were almost the last line of the poem and they were perfect.

"Promises to Keep," Kane whispered back. "I love you, Kirsty Phillips."

They locked their fingers together across the table, smiling.

"I love you back," Kirsty said.

"I love you more."

"You know, we could be having this conversation forever."

"You have a problem with that, Mrs Phillips?"

Luke looked at Jamie, startled, as Jamie's Mum pulled tongues at Jamie's Dad and Jamie's Dad pulled a face back.

But Jamie only shrugged, unconcerned. Things like this happened all the time.

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A steady rain had fallen over the Bay all that night, washing the wharf so thoroughly that by morning it gleamed with sparks of dancing sunlight. Now the day had turned into a perfect day for seafarers, with its golden sun and salty sea breezes and, chased by a restless wind, pure white clouds hurrying on through the deep blue sky.

A small select group were gathered to watch the ship's launch.

Only Kane, Kirsty and their small son, together with Tasha and Robbie, would sail out on its maiden voyage. Then Captain Kane Phillips would begin taking passengers out on mini cruises, Kirsty and Jamie accompanying him whenever school holidays allowed.

Robbie was running round with the camera like a madman, snapping everything and everyone as though it might all disappear any minute.

Rhys and Shelley stood together, while Beth, ever the peacemaker, after exchanging a few polite words with her ex-husband and his wife, stood a little apart from them.

Of course, Irene was there, and proud as punch. She was sporting a new hairdo and new trousersuit for the occasion and, alerted by Jesse, was laughing at Alf.

Alf, red-faced as usual, but even more so today, hot and breathless because the clock had been wrong and he'd had to rush, was mopping his face and neck, wondering at the flowery scent of the air and puzzled by their laughter. At last he noticed that the hankie he had pulled from his pocket was a lacy, prettily-embroidered, lavender-scented one, left behind by his sister Celia last weekend and picked up by mistake.

Glancing at Jesse again, Irene wiped tears of laughter from her eyes as the impossible happened and Alf, realising he was going to smell of lavender all day, turned even redder, blushing beetroot.

Jade leaned on Seb's wheelchair, her face glowing with happiness. Seb looked just as stoked as his wife. They _had _tried to stop smiling, often at the most inappropriate times (when they'd gone out for a celebration meal, the waiter had been baffled by what was so amusing about the regular chef not being on duty) but couldn't help it. Of course, the whole world kept wanting to know why they were both so happy and smiled back with congratulations when they heard they were going to be parents and, smiling being infectious...well, it was a vicious circle.

Their arms around each other's waists, Dani leaned against Mark, feeling warm and safe. She wished she'd told him right away about what had happened. Mark loved her. He would always love her, he'd whispered a moment ago. A surgeon at the large hospital in the same city in which Dani had been working as a freelance journalist, Mark and Dani had met when Dani was covering a story about money raised for a new ward, where parents would be able to stay overnight with children undergoing treatment. It was as if they'd known each other all their lives. They had married barely six months later and never regretted it. She snuggled closer, at peace.

It wasn't just Mark helping pull her through. Kirsty and Jade were there whenever she wanted to talk or just need a hug. Worried about Dani, Kirsty and Kane had offered to postpone their sailing trip, but she had persuaded them to go. After all, Dani said, besides mobiles, they could easily keep in touch via the radio telephone on the ship, in fact, they'd probably talk so much that Kane would have to keep kicking them both off it! It was incredible to think she could laugh again.

And scary to think how close she'd come to jumping to her death. And she knew with overwhelming certainty that she _would_ have jumped if she hadn't imagined she saw Lily that day. No, not _imagined_. Kirsty and Kane had told Dani of Jamie seeing her too, but, apart from Jade, they had chosen not to tell anyone else. It was too special a moment to share, too precious a memory to keep in their hearts.

Dani watched Kirsty now, thinking how beautiful she was and how like her mother Lily had been. She smiled to herself, remembering Kirsty as a little girl, hot tempered and big hearted, with her ready grin and wild, toffee-coloured hair that she was always having to push out of her eyes.

And look at Jade, all grown up now and about to become a Mum, though surely it wasn't two minutes ago that Jade was just a funny little kid? Fair-haired and so chubby-cheeked that she often reminded Dani of a Christmas cherub, timid and scared of everything, always seeming much younger than the fearless Kirsty, who was fiercely protective of her. Dani had mothered them both. No matter how old they all were, Kirsty and Jade always would be "the bubs" to her, she realised, with a pang of nostalgia. She was so glad they would be staying on in Summer Bay a while longer, close to her younger sisters.

Mark would be filling in for Flynn at the hospital when the Saunders family resumed their round-the-world trip that had been cut short when they'd returned home for Colleen's funeral. Rhys and Shelley had readily agreed to look after the caravan park again and Jade and Seb planned to return to the Bay permanently, wanting their twins to be born and brought up here. There was nowhere on earth as special as Summer Bay, Jade said. She was right, Dani thought. It hadn't been their childhood home but somehow it was where their hearts belonged.

Sally and Flynn tried hard not to laugh as Jamie and their daughter Pippa walked by, both kids looking incredibly serious. A couple of years older than Jamie, Pippa had been put in charge of two large plastic bottles of fizzy lemonade while Jamie had been entrusted with the long plastic beakers and multi-coloured, curly straws.

There were to be at least four lemonade drinkers: Pippa, Jamie, Jade and Irene (to Jamie's amazement, Robbie, the very tall kid, was to be allowed champagne _and_ a proper glass!) Totally ignoring the cabin cruiser, Kirsty and Kane, and Tasha's homespun speech (pouring lemonade was _far _more important) Pippa and Jamie, as though taking part in some sacred ritual, reverently placed bottle, beakers and box of straws on the ground.

Mel stood alone.

Dani and Mark hadn't wanted her to, but she had insisted on giving them some space. Jesse tried to catch her eye again but she only stared straight ahead, watching the ceremony. _Take it slowly,_ Dani had advised, _One day at a time, and it'll all come together one day_. But Melanie wasn't ready for that day just yet. She and Dani had become good friends, and she had a home now, with Irene, and a job, helping out two days a week at the caravan park, and so many people in the Bay who cared about her.

But it was to be a long journey for Mel. No easy road with so many demons from the past.

She shivered, still thin enough for the sea breezes, welcome and refreshing to everyone else, to cut sharply into her bones, and she pulled the beautiful designer jacket more tightly around her skinny shoulders. Most of the clothes that she wore these days were designer label and so expensive that it took her breath away, especially when she remembered the many times she didn't have so much as a cent to buy food. But the clothes hung on her. Dani was the only one close to her in size, and she had told Mel to help herself to anything from her wardrobe but even Dani, thin as she was, weighed more.

"You okay?" Dani called, she and Mark noticing her shivering.

"No worries, I'm cool!" Melanie laughed, making a joke of it, but sad and lonely inside. It would be a long road. But she'd get there.

Tasha reached the end of the speech, written by herself and Robbie, and tested out on Irene first, who'd delivered the verdict, after crying with laughter and several hugs, "Well, dahl, I don't think there'll ever be another ship-launching speech quite like it, but I know Kirsty and Kane will love it!"

Having managed to cover a mishmash of topics, with several pieces of Robbie's "poetry" thrown in, with a smile brighter than sunlight, Tasha declared "And I name this ship _Promises to Keep!"_

The bottle smashed against the ship's bow. Robbie's camera clicked once more. A resounding cheer arose and the champagne corks popped. And this, despite Jamie and Pippa's constant rebukes to _Sssshhhh, everybody!_

But the lemonade _was _poured successfully and, after all, that was the most important thing and the sole reason everybody had gathered at the wharf. Faces wreathed in smiles, the two kids looked round to graciously accept the round of applause that broke out, blissfully unaware that the grown-ups were clapping the naming of the ship and not Pippa and Jamie.

Jamie was stoked to see that everyone liked his Dad at last. So they'd _finally _figured out what Jamie had always known - that _his_ Dad was the greatest guy on earth! It was a magic time. And a good time to ask. To shout the question as loud as he could so that he could be heard clearly across the clink of glasses and the hubbub of voices. To ask the person who seemed to have been most troubled.

"Anniedani, d'ya remember when nobody liked my Dad? Well, why didn't they like him?"

Everybody must have been interested in the answer, Jamie thought, because everybody suddenly went very quiet.

For a long second, the only sound was the sound of the waves crashing against the shore and the noise Pippa was making, taking advantage of the fact her parents were too busy watching Jamie, as she blew bubbles in the lemonade with three straws, and wondered whether to go for six. Those who knew the past had often wondered what they would say if ever Jamie began to ask awkward questions. But when the questions finally came nobody had any answers.

And then Mel stepped forward.

Until very recently she hadn't known any of these people. But she knew something more. Something only she and Kane truly understood. How deep run the scars of childhood.

_Never been lonely  
Never been lied to  
Never had to scuffle in fear  
Nothing denied to  
Born at the instant  
Church bells chime  
And the whole world whispering  
Born at the right time_

The Paul Simon song ran through her mind as she stooped down to the little boy. In the long, lonely hours when the hospital radio closed down for the night, the personal stereo that Dani had given her had been a lifeline. Turning the dial to catch the stations or playing a CD from the large collection various people had lent her, losing herself in music while moonbeams crept through the night and she was the only person on earth left awake.

"Some things, J," Mel said gently, "are best left in the past."

"Okay," Jamie said, content with the explanation because Mel'nee said it and because everyone was happy now anyway.

Dani took a breath. "Mel's right. The future is what matters now. And we all have...we all have our promises to keep."

She was talking about something more than a ship but the two kids were the only ones who would never know. Pippa carried on blowing lemonade bubbles, now with six straws. Jamie grinned as a new thought struck him.

"Well, now everyone's mates why don't ya all come with us? Dad, how many people can we fit on the ship before we sink?"

The innocent question broke the ice. Kane and Dani laughed together.

Kane ruffled his son's hair. "I'm not exactly _plannin'_ on sinkin' any time soon, mate!"

"I can't come with you this time, J," Dani said. "But I will another time. Promise. After all, you're one of the most precious people in my life. All my family is." And she looked up at Kirsty and Kane and smiled.

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Having bathed Jamie and put him to bed, Kirsty came to tell Kane that their small son was waiting for his Dad to read him the next instalment of the bedtime story. She was smiling to herself, recalling all that had been perfect about the day, and having just seen Robbie and Tasha gazing up at the early moon and looking so happy together, oblivious to all around them and the fact it was nearly time for Robbie's turn at the helm.

Stifling laughter, she crept up behind him. And was shocked to find him crying.

"Kane?" She tenderly touched his tears, full of concern.

"Nah, I'm okay, babe." He half turned away from the steering and smiled sadly. "I was just thinkin'. 'Bout heaps. I don't deserve all this, not after all the bad stuff from the past, not after what I put Dani through."

"Yes, you do, you do! Like Dani said, it's the future that matters now."

"But the past will always be there, Kirst. Sometimes I dream real vivid dreams that Scotty and me, we're two scared little kids again, hidin' from Dad, listenin' out for Mum's screams...and I _swore_ I was never gonna be like my old man, but..."

"Kane. Listen to me. You're nothing like your Dad. You've got so much love inside you. That's why I love you. That's why Jamie loves you. Promise me you won't _ever_ think that again."

"I promise," he said at last, and with a heavy sigh drew back tears. "Ya reckon they're all out there somewhere, Kirst? All the people ya ever loved? Our little girl, Scotty, Mum, Auntie Rose, Colleen...?"

"I think they must be," Kirsty whispered, with her arms around his shoulders, with her cheek pressed against his. "I don't believe true love ever dies."

"Ours never will, babe," he whispered back. "I promise I'll love you forever, Kirst."

And as the day began to fade, promises were being made all over the world. And the calm moonlit night was filled with whispers that told of promises, of _promises_ _to keep. _

**THE END**

_Born at the Right Time © Paul Simon_


End file.
